OCR Output

VIH

CONTENTS.

КЛИК.

TÜI.D BY

I. THE YOUNG KING OF EAS- AIDH RUADH.

Gaelic

3. The Tale of the Widow's Son. Abstract

Note»

3. An Tuairisgeul Mor. Abstract Notes and references

II. THE BATTLE OF THE BIRDS. Gaelic

2. The Widow's Son. Abstract ...

3. The Wren. Abstract

4. Reference

5. Reference

G. Abstract I

7. Uirsgeul. Abstract

8 Nigheau Dubh Gbeal Dearg.

Abstract. Notes and references

James Wilton, blind fiddler

John Campbell, sawyer

Donald MacPhie, crofter ... John Mackenzie, fisherman

Ann Darroch

John MacGibbon, stable boy

" Old Woman," pauper

"Old Man,"

Donald MacCraw.drover.etc,

John Dewar, labourer

Roderick Mackenzie, sawyer

III. THE TALE OF THE HOODIE

Gaelic

2. Referred to

Notes and references

Ann MacGilvray., John Dewar

IV. THE SEA-MAIDEN

Gaelic

2. A Mlmlglidean Mhara. Abstract

3. Gille Carrach Dubh. Abstract...

4. The Smith's Son. Abstract

5. The Fisher. Reference

6. The Grey Lad. Reference

Notes and references

John Mackenzie, fisherman Donald MacPhie, fisherman

John MacGibbon, farm servant, etc.

B. Macaskill

A. MacNeill, fisherman

John Smith, labourer

V. CONALL CRA BHÜIDHE Gaelic

VI. CONAL CROVI. Gaelic

James Wilson, blind fiddler

Neill Gillies, fisherman

VII. THE TALE OF CONNAL.. Gaelic

Kenneth MacLennun ,

CONTENTS.

DATE.

.lune 9, 1859

June 27, 1859 July 1859

April I860

June Í8K9

April 28, 1859

Sept. 2 1859

Ort 28 1859

July 1850 April 1869

April 1869

Sept. 2 1869

and 1860 April 23 1859

Aug I860

Do.

June 1869

V .iv 27 1859

June 27 1869

PLACE.

Islay. Argyll .

Strath Galrlocb, ROM South Ul»t '"

Inlay ."'.

Invcrarv D.ilmalir

Strath Gniríoch, Hose Islar ...

Glcndaruail

South UUt

Шаг ..

Pool Ew«

COLLECTOR.

Hector Marl, can ...

Hector Urquhart ... Hector Mac Lean ...

Hector Urquhart ...

Hector UacLean ...

J. V. C.

C. D. & Schoolmaster

J. F. С

John Dewar

Hector Urquhart ... Hector MacLean ...

John Dewnr

Hector Urquhart ...

J. F. C. ".'

J. F. С

Hector MacLean ...

Do.

Do. Hector Urquhart ...

Hector Urquhart ...

Page

22 26

88 47

48 61

68 60 63

67 69

69 71

84 98

100

101 103

116

124

136 148

148

CONTENTS.

NAME.

'I'.H.Ii liv

4. ÜUilean Mor. Abstract

6. An Gadaiche Dubh. Reference. Notes and references

Alezander M'Douald

Alex. MacNeill, fisherman

VIII. MURCHAG A 'S illONACHAG

Note« ,

Gaelic

Many narrators

IX. THE BROWN BEAR OF THE GREEN GLEN.

Gaelic

Note»

X. THE THREE SOLDIERS. Gaelic

2d Version

3d Do

4th Do

Notes, etc, ,

Am Bocbd Ruagb

XI. THE WHITE PET

Gaelic

Notes, etc.

John MacDonald, travelling tinker.

James MacLachlan, servant

Hector Mackenzie

Hector Boyd, fisherman

Kenneth Mackenzie

XII. THE DAUGHTER OF THE SKIES.

Gaelic

Notes, etc

«A Woman"

Campbell, a servant maid ...

•«• James MacLauchlan, servant

XIII. THE GIRL AND THE DEAD MAN.

Gaelic

Notes, etc.

Ann Darroch

XIV. THE KING WHO WISHED TO MARRY HIS DAUGHTER.

Gaelic

2d Morag a Chota Bhain

Notes, references, etc

XV. THE POOR BROTHER AND THE RICH.

Gaelic

Notes

Ann Darroch

Donald MacCraw, drover ... Flora Maclntyre

CONTENTS.

DlTB.

Do.

ЛиС. 1859

April 1859

May 1859

••

July I860

June 1859

June I860

Nor. 1850

Hay 1859

Do.

S» PL"I 809 M«v I860

ГЬАСЬ

Barra

Many diitricta

No when in particular ... Iilav ..

May '."

Port Ellen, lalar

May

Islay ..

Шаг ..,

North Übt. .'.V. Islay ...

Опт I. F.TIM.

Mr. Т Cameron

Hector MacLean ...

Hector Urquhart ... Hector MncJ.crm ...

Angus MacRno

Hector MacLean ...

MacTavi.il ...

Hector MacLean ...

Do.

j. F. a "!

Hector MacLean ...

Page

152

153

153 157

160 161

164

170 174

170

183 188

189

191

191 193

194

197 199

202

208 211

218

215 217

219

223 225 226

280

283 235

CONTENTS.

NAME.

TOLD BY

XVI. THE KING OF LOCHLANN'S THREE DAUGHTERS.

Gaelic

Notes, etc

Neill Gillies, fisherman

XVII. MAOL A CHLIOBAIK

Gaelic

3d Maul a ßhoibean

4th Muni a llhoibean ...

XVIIo. FABLES, etc

XVIIS. BAILLIE LUNNAIN

Ann MacGilvray.

Flora Maclntyre

Mary, a nursemaid

John Crawfort, fisherman ...

Various sources

XVIIc. THE SUM SWARTHY CHAMPION.

Gaelic

2d Version

XVIW. THE SHIFTÏ LAD Gaelic

f John Mackenzie

(Donald Macintyre

James Wilson, blind-fiddler

John Campbell, crofter

f,l. Dewar and

(J. Macnair, shoemaker ...

CONTENTS.

Xlll

DAT«.

May 27, 1859

April 1859

Jane 1C, 1959 April 35, 1959

Feb. 2, 1860

1859 and I860 Ang 1869 1860

1859

1869

June I860.

PLACE.

DO.

klar ... . .......

Strath Gearloch

Arrochar \

Clachaig, Dunoon f

COLLECTOR.

Do.

Í>o. J. F. С

j F. с )

Mr* Donald Torrief

P«go

286

243 249

261

266 259 260

260

267

281

289

800 808

820 838

ERRATA.

YOU I.

Pagenrt

.. НИ,

.. 1т,

rvutlii,

Раде !'.".,

.. IM,

.. 301,

.. u«,

.. M9,

.. И«,

.. 3»,

.. SS9,

.. 303.

.. .404,

.. ЗОЯ,

.. (10,

.. sie,

.. (17,

.. SI8,

.. «1«,

.. «1»,

Ра«е SS,

.. es,

.. n,

.. 10«,

.. 109,

.. 10»,

.. 109,

.. no,

, line 3, /or Ardmaddy,

.. IS, ..

.. 1, ..

.. (Л, '.'.

... 30, ..

.: S-l, ..

•, ..

.. (1, ..

.. », ..

.. »4,

.. 1. ..

.. 12, ..

.. ». ..

.. 19, ..

.. 16, ..

.. 1, ..

..sie, ..

.. 81, ..

.. ЗЛ, ..

.. se, ..

.. 16, ..

Mucuhain,

Phynoddci*, John Macf-hie,

head,

Dcocnnicron,

Wnnmac,

Mill«,

BREATH,

belled.

Ard tin n Uamha,

Alrd na n Uamha,

cormich.

dornwl.

corntlch,

IA.4RU!,

triol,

dtilcit,

baillirhe

ceallaldr

rtad Ixtchmaddr.

. . Macabuin.

. . Phynodderce. .. Doimld M'Phle.

wing.

. . Decameron.

. . Wiinwac.

.. Mill.

.. |fj S<IIGII, a bitch

ahlrc, etc.)

(Пои-

. . with lumpa of tangled hnlr and mud dangling abont

him.

-. ( X

. . Ard nn h Uamh.

. . Ard na h Uamh.

. . cormich.

. . dontnd.

. . cormirh.

. . IARLE.

. . trld.

. . duine.

.. rallliclte

. ceallaidh

. . bu learn aa an danta leith >.

VOL. II.

Une 1,/or Aidean,

Я, ..

.. I«, ..

.. 1, ..

.. 19, ..

.. 3d, ..

I5S, IM,

and г"7»'™. •

.. ist.

.. IM,

.. IS»,

. . 1»7,

.. 1*3,

.. m.

.. i«*.

:: îîî;

I'ne 3.1, ..

.. IS, ..

.. 4, ..

.. SI, ..

.. «0,

.. 1, ..

• • T» • i

. . ЗА. .

.. n, ..

Otgord.

ontain.

siaU'r-in-law,

niml.

bettle

Sterling,

Then Tanguai, and

other reading!«

bit» a- bhtlth,

iheiae

Andfraon,

•Inn,

«It,

«K.

NlRilal. '

nod [*| Ardnn.

. . Osgood.

. . nimain.

. . son-in-law.

. . nnoi.

. kettle.

. . Stirling.

. . Ken Tangval, ко

nounred.— .!. K l!.

. I'M 'я a' bhnlh.

. . Kheinnc.

. . Anderaen

. . ainm.

.. Cnlrt.

. . алия.

. . tnrdnnr.

. Xlgdal.

lim-

EKKATA.

No. XXXVIII. For the Gaelic «palling of the name«, we the Oaellc wblck

follow«. No. XXXVIII.

(paufm) /or Almighty, read All the powers. (MacLean.)

Page 80S, * .. hnnly «Mtlou, .. funeral cars, cull crodha,

carriage« of a peculiar form, used of old for carrying the dead. (Dewar.)

.. 212, S8, .. fuar, .. fear.

..213, t, .. malrde, .. malrne.

.. 215, .. 38, .. Sibearta, ««пи "a great rock" where the

waves dash In foam. (Mac- Lean). No. XXXIX. Some of the Gaelic In this tale Is go «pelt aa to Imitate the

«Beaker's accent.

Page 270, 10, /or chnlgeel, read chuigeal.

.. 281, 9, .. Sgaile, .. Bgailc.

.. 262, 12, .. ui'ge, .. uuge-beatha.

.. 282, 15, .. tcabh, .. Taobh.

No. XL1II. I have a much longer and more complete version of this. . Page 203, lino 2, far John MacPhlo, read Donald.

296, 82, .. 20 to 4.

. . 20 to 5.

818, This Gaelic Is somewhat phonetic.

855, 1, rong [r| The acvon brown atara — Пюхнлплх. :iVii, 84,/urlWduliiH, rtad Diululus.

IM,

Ш,

408, «J»,

448,

450,

4S5,

20, . . 11 uitunurull.

IS, .. a yard.

Í3, .. jam«, 2B, .. too.

16, .. went,

27, .. had,

23, .. Crath,

, . gllOKHON It.

. . a n*l.

. . jaw«. .. to.

.. bent

.. hard.

.. Crath.

INTRODUCTION.

ТПВ FAIBT-KOO, AND WHAT CAME OUT OP IT.

ON the stormy coasts of the Hebrides, amongst seaweed and shells, fishermen and kelp-burners often find certain hard light floating objects, somewhat like flat chesnuts, of various colours—grey, black, and brown, which they call sea-nuts, strand-nuts, and fairy-eggs. Where they are most common, they are used as snuffboxes, but they are also worn and preserved as amulets, with a firm or sceptical belief in their mysterious virtues. Old Martin, who wrote of the Western Isles in 1703, calls them " Molluka beans," and tells how they were then found, and worn, and used as medicine ; how they preserved men from the evil eye, and cured sick cattle by a process as incomprehensible as mesmerism. Practical Highlandmen of the present day call the nuts trash, and brand those who wear them, like their ancestors a hundred and fifty years ago, as ignorant and superstitious ; but learned botaniste, too wise to overlook trifles, set themselves to study even fairy-eggs ; and believing them to be West Indian seeds,* stranded in Europe, they planted them, and some (from the Azores) grew. Philosophers, having

* tfimota icon Jem, greet pod-creeper. ¿lacuna ureu«. • a

X INTBODUOTION.

discovered what they were, use them to demonstrate the existence of the Gulf Stream, and it is even said Hint they formed a part of one link in that chain of reasoning which led Columbus to the New World.

So within this century, men have gathered nursery tales. They set themselves earnestly to learn all that they could concerning them ; they found similar tales common to many languages ; they traced them back for centuries ; they planted them in books, and at last the Brothers Grimm, their predecessors, and their followers, have raised up a pastime for children to bo " a study fit for the energies of grown men and to all the dignity of a science."

So at least says the learned author of the translation of " Norse Tales," and there ore many who agree with him.

Men have now collected stories from most parts of the world. They have taken them from the dictation of American Indians, South Sea Islanders, Lapps and Samoydes, Germans and Russians. Missionaries have published the fables of African savages ; learned men have translated Arabic, Sanscrit, and Chinese manuscripts ; even Egyptian papyri have been dug up, and forced to yield their meaning, and all alike have furnished talcs, very similar to stories now told by word of mouth. But as some of these are common to races whose languages have been traced to a common origin, it is now held that nursery stories and popular tales have been handed down together with the languages in which they are told ; and they are used in striving to trace out the origin of races, as philologists use words to trace language, as geologists class rocks by the shells and bones which they contain, and as natural philosophers used fairy-eggs in tracing the Gulf Stream.

The following collection is intended to be a contri-

INTRODUCTION. xi

bution to this new science of " Storyology." It is a museum of curious rubbish about to perish, given as it was gathered in the rough, for it seemed to me as barbarous to " polish " a genuine popular tale, as it would be to adorn the bones of a Megatherium with tinsel, or gild a rare old copper coin. On this, however, opinions vary, but I hold my own that, stories orally collected can only be valuable if given unaltered ; besides, where is the model story to be found t

Practical men may despise the tales, earnest men condemn them as lies, some even consider them wicked ; one refused to write any more for a whole estate ; my best friend says they are all "blethers." But one man's rubbish may be another's treasure, and what is the standard of value in such a pursuit as this ?

'• And what are you going to do with them stories, Mr. Carnal ?" said a friend of mine, as he stood amongst the brown sea-weed, at the end of a pier, on a fine summer's evening, and watched my departure in a tiny boat

" Print them, man, to bo euro."

My friend is famous for hie good stories, though they are of another kind, and he uses tobacco ; he eyed me steadily for a moment, and then he disposed of the whole matter monosyllabically, but forcibly, "HuchM"

It seemed to come from his heart.

Said a Highland coachman to me one day, "The luggage is very heavy. I will not believe but there is stones in the portmanteaus I They will be pickin' them up off the rod, and takin' them away with them ; I have seen them myself;" and then, having disposed of geology, he took a sapient pinch of snull'.

So a benighted Englishman, years ago in Australia, took up his quarters in a settler's hut, as ho told me.

Xll INTRODUCTION.

Other travellers came in, and one had found a stone in a dry river-course which he maintained to be partly gold. Tim rest jeered at him till he threw away his prize in a pet ; and then they all devoured mutton chops and damper, and slept like sensible men.

So these tales may be gold or dross according to taste. Many will despise them, but some may take an interest in the pastime of their humble countrymen; some maybe amused; those who would learn Gaelic will find the language of the people who told the stories; and those who would compare popular tales of different races, may rest assured that I have altered nothing ; that these really are what they purport to be—stories orally collected in the West High- / lands since the beginning of 1859. I have but carried drift rubbish from the place where I found it to a place where it may be seen and studied by those who care to take the trouble.

The resemblance which the collection bears to others already made, is a strong argument for the common origin of the stories, and of the people who tell them. But, as a foundation for argument, I am bound to give the evidence on which I liave formed my belief in their antiquity, for the stories would be rubbish indeed if they were not genuine traditions.

This is the account given by Mr. Hector MacLean, parish schoolmaster at Ballygrant in Islay, whom I have known from his boyhood, and who, at my request, collected stories last summer in the Long bland :—

" In the Islands of Barro, tbe recitation of tales during the long winter nights is still тегу common. The people gather in crowds to the houses of those whom they consider good reciters to listen to their stories. They appear to be fondest of those tales which describe exceedingly rapid changes of place in very short portions of time, and have evidently no respect for tbo

INTRODUCTION. 3U11

nnitiei. Daring the recitation of there talo, the emotions of the reciter« are occasionally тегу strongly excited, and so also are those of the listeners, almost shedding tears at one time, and giving way to lond laughter at another. A good many of them firmly believe in all the extravagance of those stories.

" They speak of the Ossianic heroes with ля much feeling, sympathy, and belief in their existence and reality as the readers of the newspapers do of the exploits of the British army in the Crimea or in India ; and whatever be the extravagance of the legends they recite respecting them, it is exceedingly remarkable that the same character is always ascribed to the same hero in almost every story and by almost every reciter. Fingal, or rather Fionn. is never called the king of any country or territory, but the king of the Finn, a body of men, who wore raised, according to the traditions current in the Long Island and other parts of the Highlands, in Ireland and in the Highlands, to defend both countries npninst foreign invaders, more especially against the Scandinavians. The origin these illiterate people assign to them, according to the traditions handed down to them, is, that the largest and strongest bodied young men and women were selected and married together in order to produce a brave and powerful race capable of withstanding nnd repelling the incursions of foreign foes. Any hero that came west, east, north, or south, and ' Cothrom na Finne ' (the chance of the Finne), is the term still used for fair-play in the Highlands.

"In no tale or tradition related to me regarding these heroes have I heard the name, ' High Mhdr-bheinn,' (king of Morren) ascribed to Fionn ; nor have I heard him described as the king of any territory or country—always ' Rigb na Finne or Fuinne.' Feinn or Finn in the plural of Fiann, which is probably derived from Fiadh dhuine ; either • wild man from bis strength and bravery, or else the man of deer, from their maintaining themselves by hunting deer, extensive tracts of land being allotted to them for that purpose. This last etymology I believe myself to be the correct one.

"The most of the people in Barra and South Uist are Roman Catholics, can neither read nor write, and hardly know any English. From these circumstances it is extremely improbable that they have borrowed much from the literature of other

XIV INTRODUCTION.

nation!. In North Uiet and Harris these tales are nearly gone, and this, I believe, to be owing partly to reading, which in a manner supplies a substitute for them, partly to bigoted religious ideas, and partly to narrow utilitarian views."

This clear statement is accompanied by a description of each of the men who contributed, from which it appears in detail that the greater number speak Gaelic only, that many of them can neither read nor write, and that they are clever though uneducated ; and this account I know to be correct in some cases, from my own personal knowledge uf the men. Hector Urquhart, now gamekeeper at Ardkinglas, whom I have known for many years, agrees with MacLean in his account of the telling of these stories in other districts in former times.

This is his account—

" In my nativo place, Pool-Ewe, Ross-shiro, when I was a boy, it was the custom for the young to assemble together on the long winter nights to hear the old people recite the tales or sgculachd, which they had learned from their fathers before them. In these days tailors and shoemakers went from house to house, making our clothes and shoes. When one of them came to tho village we were greatly delighted, whilst getting new kilts at the samo time. I knew an old tailor who used to tell a new tale every night during his stay in the village ; und another, an old shoemaker, who, with his large stock of stories about ghosts and fairies, used to frighten us so much that we scarcely dared pass the neighbouring churchyard on our way home. It was also the custom when an aoidh, or stranger, celebrated for his store of tales, came on a visit to the village, for us, young and old, to make a rush to the bouse where be passed the night, and choose our seats, some on beds, some on forms, and others on three-legged stools, etc., and listen in silence to tho now talcs ; just as I have myself seen since, when a far-famed actor came to perform in tbo Glasgow theatre. The goodman of the house usually opened with the tale of Famhair Мот (great giant) or' some other favourite tale, and then the stranger carried on after that. It was a com-

INTRODUCTION. XV

mon laying, ' The finit Ule by the goodman, and talei to daylight by the aoidh,' or guest. It was also the custom to pat riddles, in the solving of which all in the house had to tax their ingenuity. If one of the party put a riddle which was not solved that night, be went home with the title of King of Riddles. Besides this, there wax usually in such gatherings a discussion about the fein, which comes from FIAMTAIDII, giant ; tlio Fiantaibh were a body of men who volunteered to defend their country from the invaeion» and inroads of the Danes and Norwegians, or Loch- linnich. Fiamr, who WM always called King of the Fein, was the strongest man amongst them, and no person was admitted into the company who was less in height than he, however much taller. I remember the old black shoemaker telling us one night that FIÜJTH had a tooth which he consulted as an oracle upon all important occasions. He had but to touch this tooth, and whatever he wanted to know was at once revealed to him.

"The above is all I can at present readily call to mind of the way in which the evenings were spent in the Highlands thirty or forty years ago. The minister came to the village in 1830, and the schoolmaster soon followed, who pot a stop in our village to such gatherings ; and in their place we were supplied with heavier tasks than listening to the old shoemaker's fairy tales. From that period till I collected the few in this collection, I have not heard a tale recited. Un going to visit my friends last summer I expected that I would get some old tales among them, but I found that the most of the old men who used to relut« tht-m in my young days had died, and the few who were then alive of them were so old that they had lost their memories, so that I only got but a trifle to what I expected. HECTOE UBQUIIART.

March 1860.

John Dewar, a labourer, whom I never saw, but who has written and sent me many stories, agrees with the others. These men have never met, and have acted independently ; and yet, in many cases, I have received versions of the same story from each and from other sources, and I have myself heard the вате incident« repeated by their authorities, and by others

XVÍ INTRODUCTION.

j whom they had never seen ; sometimes even the тегу words.

The name of every narrator is given with his story, and I am satisfied on direct evidence that most of these were known in the Highlands at least forty years ago. Now, for the benefit of those who know as little of the subject as I did, let me give the theory of the distribution of popular tales, as I have gathered it from the able introduction to the Norse Tales and other sources, and then let me point out the bearing of this collection on that theory.

It is supposed that the races known as Indo- European came from Central Asia at some very early period, and passed over Europe, separating and settling down as nations ; retaining words of their original language, and leaving the traces of their religion and history everywhere as popular tales ; and that they found the land occupied. Each wave, it is said, " pushed onwards those who went before," but, as it seems to me, each in turn must have stopped as it arrived at the great sea, aud there the waves of this stream of men must have mingled and stagnated.

As the flotson and jetsam of American rivers and of the Gulf Stream is constantly drifting northwards and eastwards, and finds a resting-place on some western shore, so the traces of the great human stream, which is supposed to have flowed westwards, should be found in greatest abundance stranded at the western sea. If this be correct, and if the plains of Ачт sent migratory hordes eastwards as well as westwards, the tales and languages of the far East and West should most resemble each other, and should also resemble more than others the oldest forms of the myths and languages of those from whom they sprang. Brittany, Scandinavia, Ireland, and the west of Scotland, from

INTRODUCTION. XV11

their geographical position, should contain more of this light mental debris than Central Europe ; for the game reason that more of the floating rubbish of American rivers is found on the shores of Europe than anywhere on the great ocean ; and if mankind had a common origin, and started from the plains of Asia, and if popular tales really are old traditions, then the tales of Ceylon should resemble those of Barra, and those of Japan should resemble the others, because men travelling eastwards and arrived at Japan, could not easily advance farther. Mr. Oliphant tells us that both in China and in Japan groups are commonly seen listening to professional story-tellers in the streets, and it is to be hoped that some one will enable us to judge of their talents.

Bo that as it may, fairy-eggs are not the only foreign products found on the shores of the Hebrides, and the people who dwell there know stories of larger ,/ growth than mere nursery tales. Great logs of driftwood find their way to shore, and are turned to use. Such a log I onco fouud, and used myself, long ago. It was half buried in the sand ; it had been long tossed by the sea, and battered against rocks, for it was heavy with water, splintered and ground. No tree like it grew anywhere near. There was no mark of a tool on it The stumps of its roots and branches remained, and it seemed as if it had been torn up and wafted to its resting-place by winds and waves alone. I have now no doubt that it came from America. Had it been insignificant, and useless, like a fairy-egg, we might have left it, or preserved it as a curiosity ; but it was a useful log, and we were a party of chilled otter hunters, so, after a few speculations, we hoisted the prize on our shoulders, carried it to our dwelling, a neighbouring cave, and there we burned it

XV111 INTRODUCTION.

I see it often, hissing and sputtering, and lighting up the bivouac with its red glare. Its ashes may he there still, but that tree is a tree no longer ; its origin and wanderings cannot now be traced ; it has shared the , fate of many a popular tale. It was found and used up.

Such a log I lately saw in South T list. Ko tool mark was on it; it had lost its own foliage, but it was covered with a brown and white marine foliage of seaweed and dead barnacles, and it was drilled in all directions by these curious sea-shells, which are supposed by the people to be embryo geese. It was sound, though battered, and a worthy Celtic smith was about to add it to the roof of a cottage, which he was making of boulders and turf. It was about to share the fate of many popular talcs, and become a part of something else. It may be recognized as an American production hereafter, and its history is deeply marked on it, though it forms part of a house by this time. So a genuine popular tale may be recognized in a play or a romance.

Another such tree I saw in Benbecula, with bark still on the roots, and close to it lay a squared log, and near that a mast with whito paint and iron bindings, blocks and crosstrccs, still attached to it A fow miles oil' was a stranded ship, with her cargo and fittings, a wreck about to be sold, and turned to any use that the new owners might think fit All these were about to be changed, and as it is with driftwood in the Highlands, so, as I imagine, it has been with popular tales everywhere. They are as old as the races who tell them, but the original ideas, like the trees from which logs, masts, and ships are made, have been broken up, cut, carved, and ornamented— lost and found—wrecked, destroyed, broken, and put

INTRODUCTION. XÍX

together again ; and, though the original shape is hard to find, the fragments may he recognized in hooks, and wherever else they may now be found.

But as there are quiet spots in the world where drift-wood accumulates undisturbed, so there are quiet spots where popular tales flourish in peace, because no man has interfered with them. In Spitzbergen, according to the accounts given me by Norwegian bear hunters, and adventurous English nobles, trees, such as those occasionally found in Scotland, are piled in heaps. Trees, logs, broken spars, and wreck, gather and bleach and decay together, because there are no men on that wild shore to use them. So in the islands where the western " wanderers," " Albanien," settled down, and where they have remained for centuries, old men and women are still found who have hardly stirred from their native islands, who speak only Gaelic, and cannot read or write, and yet their minds are filled with a mass of popular lore, as various as the wreck piled on the shores of Spitzbergen. If such as these get hold of the contents of a story book, they seem unconsciously to extract the incidents, and reject all the rest,—to select the true wood, and throw away foreign ornament, just as they chip off the paint of a stranded most, or scrape the sea-weed off a log when they build it into a roof. I have given one specimen of e story, which I believe to be derived from the " Arabian Nights," though it is quite impossible that the man who told it to Hector Mac Lean, and who told it to mo also, in nearly the same words, can have got it directly from any book; for he cannot read at all, and he does not understand English.

I have found very little notice of these West Highland prose talcs in books, but they are referred to. In 1703, Martin says that his countrymen thon told long

XX INTRODUCTION.

talée about Fin MacCoul, but he adds that he will not trouble the reader with them.

In 1780, Dr. Smith, in his book on Gaelic poetry, says, that prosaic talos should be preserved in the same manner may seem strange, but so it is. He condemns the "urskels" as "later tales," unworthy of notice, probably because they were different from the poetry of which he collected so much.

Gaelic dictionaries mention "legends" as sources from which words have been taken. Amongst the Gaelic MSS. now in the Advocates' Library, there are several which contain tales similar to those now told in the Highlands. One passage about the sailing of a boat, which I have got, with variations, from a great many people living in various parts of the Highlands, I find in a MS. which was lent to mo by the secretary of the Celtic Society of London. It is dated 23d December 1808, signed Alexander Stewart, A.M., and marked Poems of Ossian. It contains 7721 lines of Gaelic, mostly poetry, which by the references seem to have been copied from something else. The passage to which I refer, occurs in а " Fragment of a Tale, p. 17," which occupies thirty-seven folio pages, and treats of carrying off a lady from an island, and her recovery by her husband.

Dr. MacLeod, the best of living Gaelic scholars, printed one old tale, somewhat altered, with a moral added, in his "Leabhar nan Cnoc," in 1834, but even his efforts to preserve and use this old lore were unsuccessful.

Those, then, who understood Gaelic, thought popular tales unworthy of notice ; those who did not understand Gaelic, could know nothing about them ; and there are many now living in the Highlands, who speak Gaelic and yet believed, till they scorched at my

INTRODUCTION. XXI

request, that stories had become extinct in their districts. One good Highlander, who has helped me much, Mr. James Robertson, living at Inverary, so believed, till he heard his own nursemaid repeat No. 17, and a neighbouring fisherman toll No. 6. In the Highlands, as elsewhere, society is arranged in layers, like the climates of the world. The dweller on an Indian plain little dreams that there is a region of perpetual frost in the air above him ; the Esquimaux does not suspect the slumbering volcano under his feet ; and the dwellers in the upper and lower strata of society, everywhere, know as little of each other's ways of Ufe, as the men of the plain know of the mountaineers in the snow.

Highland stories, then, have been despised by educated men, and they are as yet unchanged popular Ules. It so happened that a piper was the instructor of my babyhood. He was a stalwart, kindly, gentle man, whose face is often before me, though he has long since gone to his rest From him I first heard а few of the tales in this collection. They had almost faded from my memory, but I remembered their existence, and I knew where to search, so I began at the beginning of 1859 by writing to my Highland friends, of all degrees, for stories of all kinds, true stories exccptcd ; and here let me thank them cordially for the trouble which they have taken, for they are too numerous to thank in detail

I begged for the very words used by the people who told the stories, with nothing added, or omitted, or altered. Those who could wrote Gaelic, those who could not did their best in English,—translated, at first or second-hand, from Gaelic ; and when I had so gathered many versions of a story, I thought I might safely conclude that it had been known in the

INTRODUCTION.

country for many years, and was essentially a popular tale.

My next step was to go at Easter to a Highland district, near the lowlands, where a gamekeeper had marked down a lot of tale-tellers, and I was soon convinced that there was plenty of game, though hard to get.

This difficulty may be worth some explanation, for it exists elsewhere, and bears on the collection of tales everywhere. Highland peasants and fishermen, especially those dwelling near the lowlands, are shy and proud, and even more peculiarly sensitive to ridicule than peasants elsewhere. Many have a lurking belief in the truth of the stories which they tell, and a rooted conviction that any one with a better education will laugh at the belief, and the story, and the narrator and his language, if he should be weak enough to venture on English, and betray his knowledge of Sgeultachd and his creed. He cannot imagine that any one out of his own class can possibly be amused by his frivolous pastimes. No one ever has hitherto. He sees every year a summer flood of tourists of all nations pouring through lus lochs and glens, but he knows as little of them as they know of him. The shoals of herrings that enter Loch Fync know as much of the dun deer on the hill-side, as Londoners and Highland peasants know of each other. Each gets an occasional peep at the other as the deer may see the herrings capering on the loch— each affects the other slowly but surely, as the herrings do drive away the wild deer by attracting men to catch them ; but the wont of a common language here as elsewhere, keeps Highlands and Lowlands, Celt and Saxon, as clearly separate as oil and water in the same glass.

The first step, then, towards the acquisition of a story is to establish confidence. It may be that the

INTRODUCTION.

would-be-collector sees before bim a stropping lad dressed in the garb of a west country fisherman—a rough blue bonnet, jacket, and trousers. He steps out and ranges up alongside. The Highlander glances from under his bushy eyebrows, and sees with his sharp grey eyes that the new comer is a stranger ; he looks rather like a Saxon ; Highland curiosity is strong, and he longs to ask whence he comes ; but politeness is stronger, and it would be uncivil to begin questioning at once. So with a nervous kick of one foot, and a quick shy glance, the fisherman jerks out, "It's a fine day." "The n' latha briagh" (The day is fine) replies the stranger ; and as he speaks, the whole face and manner of his companion change as if by magic ; doubt and hesitation, suspicion and curiosity, become simple wonder ; his eyes and his heart open wide at the sound of his native tongue, and he exclaims, " You have Gaelic 1" " You will take my excuse by your leave, but what part of the Gaeldom are you from ? " And then having found out all that is to be discovered, the ice being broken, and confidence established, it oozes out gradually that the fisherman knows a story, and after much persuasion ho tells it, while he rows the gentleman who can talk Gaelic across a Highland loch. At parting, he adds that he has only told it to please a " Gael," and that he would not have said one word to a Gall (stranger). But the man who is fluent in his boat, is shy and awkward when set down to repeat his story for transcribing, and it is only when set with one of his neighbours whom he knows, that his story is got on paper.

Or it may be an old dame iu a tall white mutch with a broad block silk band, a red cloak, and clean white apron. She is 70, and can walk ten miles ; she hoe, known all the neighbouring families for

XXIV INTRODUCTION.

generations. If you can claim consulship with any, she is your friend ; but ehe u-ill praise the ancestors and tell of the adventures of Rob Roy the Gregorach, the last of the freebooters. "But Mary can you say Murachag and Mionachag t " " Huch I my dear, that is an ursgeul that is nonsense. The Good Being bless you, I knew your grandmother," etc. etc. So one must rest contented with the fact, that old Mary knows one tale, and probably many more, which a week's persuasion might perhaps extract

Or it may be a pretty lass, whose eye twinkles with intelligence at every catch-word, thrown out as a bait, but whom nothing will induce to confess that she knows the foolish tales which the minister has condemned.

Or it is an old wandering vagabond of a tinker, who has no roof but the tattered covering of his tent He has pitched it in a quarry under a giant fir, the gnarled roots, half bare, hardly support the tree on the edge of a red clay bank, and form a kind of hollow, a " cos," in which the tinker and his tribe have nestled at odd times for years. A thin blue smoke is curling amongst the blackened roots, and winding itself about the noble tree. A stately mansion and a wide domain, and a blue highland loch, with a shoal of brown herring-boats, con be seen through the wood from the door of the tinker's tent ; and there he lies, an old man past eighty, who has been a soldier, and " has never seen a school ; " too proud to beg, too old to work ; surrounded by boxes and horn spoons, with shaggy hair and naked feet, as perfect a nomad as the wildest Lapp or Arab in the whole world. It is easy to make friends with such men. A kind word in their native language is all that is required, but to get their stories is another affair. "Donald, did you ever see the like of thai" Up

INTRODUCTION.

starte the old man on his elbow,—" Och ! och l that's a fairy arrow, I have seen that ; och I och ! no fairy arrow will ever hit the man who has that—no fire will ever burn the house where that is. That's lucky, well ! well I" and the old man sinks down on his bed of fern. But the elf shot has hit the mark, and started a train of thought, which leads at last to a wild weird story ; but before that story can be written, the whole tribe decamp, and are lost for a time.

The first difficulty, then, was the nature of the people who knew the stories ; and the second, the want of men able and willing to write Gaelic. It was easy to write English versions of tales heard in Gaelic, but I wanted the Gaelic as it was told, and I had neither time nor ability to write it down myself. I therefore sought out two men on whom I could rely, to collect and write for me, and the largest share of this book has been collected and written by them. One is Mr. Hector Urquhart, gamekeeper at Ardkinglas on Loch Fyne ; the other, Mr. Hector MacLean, schoolmaster at Bollygrant in Islay, who has superintended the printing of the Gaelic. They entered into the spirit of the work at once, and they have executed their share of it with the greatest fidelity. But while these are my chief aids, I am largely indebted to many others for written Gaelic ; for example, to one of my earliest friends, Mrs. MacTavish ; to the Rev. Mr. MacLauchlan of Edinburgh ; to Alexander Fräser, Esq. of Mauld, near Beaulay ; to many of the schoolmasters on the eatato of Sir Kenneth MacKenzie ; to Mr. Donald Torne, Benbecula ; and to many others, including John Dewar, a self-educated man of advanced age, whose contribution does him the greatest credit

The next step was to spend a summer holiday in studying the actual condition of this popular lore, b

XXVI INTRODUCTION.

where I had found that it existed in the greatest profusion. I landed at Ardmaddy in North T list, and walked with a knapsack to the sound of Barra, and hack to Stomoway ; crossing the sound of Harris in a fishing boat. I found a population differing from that uf the main land, perhaps the least changed from their old ways of any people in the kingdom. Gaelic is their usual, often their only language. Every English word which lias crept in has a Gaelic head and tail Many, I know not how many, "have no English" at all, and have never been taught to read. In many islands the people are living undisturbed, where their ancestors have lived time out of mind. They are a small, active, intelligent race, with dark hair and eyelashes, and grey eyes ; quick, clever, and pugnacious. I had expected to liiul traces of Norwegian occupation in the people and their language. I watched carefully for Norwegian words and features ; and I found the people a complete contrast to Norwegian peasants, whom I know well, who are large, bony, light-haired fair men, sagacious rather than quick ; and generally slow to anger.

I could linil nothing Scandinavian, except certain names of places, and certain ruins, which it is the fashion to attribute to the Lochliners. Even the houses and the old agricultural implements, whore thoy are still used, are peculiar. For example, the old crooked spade still used in islands in the sound of Barra, and elsewhere, has no resemblance to any agricultural implement that I have ever seen anywhere out of the West Highlands. It is in fact a foot plough used without horses. It is remarkable that a steam plough should be at work at the same time, on the east coast of Cromarty at Tarbert Every horse I met on the road stopped of his own accord. Every man asked my news, •" whence I took the walking," where I lived, and

INTRODUCTION. XXVÍi

why I came f Saddles were often sacks, stirrups a loop of twisted bent, bridles the same, and bits occasionally wood. Dresses were coarse, but good ; but there was an air of kindly politeness over all, that is not to be found in homespun dresses in any other country that I know. When I was questioned, I answered, and told my errand, and prospered. " I was not a drover come to buy cattle at the fair ;" " Neither was I a merchant though I carried a pack." " I was the gentleman who was after Sgialachdan." My collector had made my name known. I spoke Gaelic, and answered questions. I am one of themselves, so I got on famously.

Men and women of all ages could and did tell me stories, children of all sizes listened to them ; and it was self-evident that people generally knew and enjoyed them. Elsewhere I had been told, that thirty or forty years ago, men used to congregate and tell stories ; here, I was told, that they now spend whole winter nights about the fire listening to these old world tales. The clergy, in some places, had condemned the practice, and there it had fallen into disuse ; stories seemed to be almost exterminated in some islands, though I believe they were only buried alive ; but in other places this harmless amusement is not forbidden ; and there, in every cluster of houses, is some one man famed as "good at sgialachdan," whose house is a winter evening's resort. I visited these, and listened, often with wonder, at the extraordinary power of memory shown by untaught old men.

It is perhaps beyond the province of a mere collector of old tales to be serious ; but surely Gaelic books containing sound information would bo a vast boon to such a people. The young would read them, and the old would understand them. All would take

XXV111 INTRODUCTION.

a warmer interest in Canada and Australia, -where strong arms and bold spirits are wanted, if they knew what these countries really are. If they heard more of European battles, and knew what a ship of war is now, there would be more soldiers and sailors from the Isles in the service of their country. At all events, the old spirit of popular romance is surely not an evil spirit to be exorcised, but rather a good genius to be controlled and directed Surely stories in which a mother's blessing, well earned, leads to success j in which Ute poor rise to be princes, and the weak and courageous overcome giants ; in which wisdom excelle brute force,— surely even such frivolities ore better pastime than а solitary whisky bottle, or sleep, or grim silence ; for that seems the choice of amusements if tales are forbidden, and Gaelic books are not provided for men who know no other language ; and who, as men, must be amused now and then.

I have never heard a story, whose point was obscenity, publicly told in a Highland cottage ; and I believe that such are rare. I have heard them where the rough polish of more modern ways has replaced the polished roughness of " wild " Highlanders ; and that where even the bagpipes have been almost abolished as profane.

I have heard the music of the Cider Cellars in a parlour, even in polished England, when I had failed to extract anything else from a group of comfortably- dressed villagers. A half-polished human gem is but a spoiled crystal anywhere ; and I prefer the rough diamond or the finished jewel

But this is foreign to my work ; my visits were to the tellers of old stories, and had nothing to do with political economy and public morals. I paid my visits, and heard the stories ; and a goodly audience

INTRODUCTION. XXÍX

often gathered to share the treat, and all seemed marvellously to enjoy it. If there was an occasional coarse word spoken, it was not coarsely meant

Let me describe one of these old story men as a typo of his kind. I trust he will not bo offended, for ho wag very polite to me. His name is Mocl'hie ; he lives at the north end of South U ist, where the road ende at a sound, which has to be forded at the ebb to get to Bonbccula, The house is built of a double wall of loose boulders, with a layer of peat three feet thick between the walls. The ends are round, and the roof reste on the inner wall, leaving room for a crop of yellow Rowans. À man might walk round the roof on the top of the wall There is but one room, with two low doors, one on each side of the house. The fire is on the floor ; the chimney is a hole above it ; and the rafters arc hung with pendants and festoons of shining black peat reek. They are of birch from the mainland, American drift wood, or broken wreck. They support a covering of turf and straw, and stones, and heather ropes, which keep out the rain well enough.

The house stands on a green bank, with grey rocks protruding through the turf; and the whole neighbourhood is pervaded by cockle shells, which indicate the food of the people and their fishing pursuits. la • neighbouring kiln there were many cart-loads about to be burned, to make that lime which is so durable in the old castles. The owner of the house, whom I visited twice, is seventy-nine. He told me nine stories, and like all the others, declared that there was no man in the islands who knew them so well. " He could not say how many he knew ;" he seemed to know versions of nearly everything I had got ; and he told me plainly that my versions were good for nothing. " lluch 1 Thou hast not got them right at

INTRODUCTION.

all." " They came into his mind," he said, "sometimes at night when he could not sleep,—old tales that he had not heard for threescore years."

He had the manner of a practised narrator, and it is quite evident that he is one ; he chuckled at the interesting parts, and laid his withered finger on my knee as he gave out the terrible bits with due solemnity. A small boy in a kilt, with large round glittering eyes, лгав standing mute at his knee, gazing at his wrinkled face, and devouring every word. The boy's mother first boiled, and then mashed potatoes ; and his father, a well grown man in tartan breeks, ate them. Ducks and ducklings, a cat and a kitten, some hens and a baby, all tumbled about on the clay floor together, and expressed their delight at the savoury prospect, each in his own fashion ; and three wayfarers dropped in and listened for a spell, and passed their remarks till the ford was shallow. The light came streaming down the chimney, and through a single pane of glass, lighting up a track in the blue mist of the peat smoke ; and fell on the white hair and brown withered face of the old man, as he sat on a low stool with his feet to the fire ; and the rest of the dwelling, with all its plenishing of boxes and box- beds, dishes and dresser, and gear of all sorts, faded away through shades of deepening brown, to the black darkness of the smoked roof and the " peat corner." There we sat, and smoked and talked for hours, till the tide ebbed ; and then I crossed the ford by wading up to the waist, and dried my clothes in the wind in Bcnbecula.

Another man of the same stamp, Patrick Smith, lives near the sound of Barra ; and a third, " Donald MacDonald MacCharles Maclntyro," in Benbccula ; and I heard of plenty more, whom I had not time to

INTRODUCTION. XXXÍ

visit I found them to be men with clear heads and wonderful memories, generally very poor and old, living in remote corners of remote islands, and speaking only Gaelic ; in short, those who have lived most at home, furthest from the world, and who have no source of mental relaxation heyond themselves and their neighbours.

At Gearrloch on the mainland, some old namesakes of mine are of the same stamp, but in these regions the schoolmaster has made himself at home. Tales have been forbidden, but other lore has been provided. There are many well attended English schools, so old men have access to books and newspapers through their children. Tradition is out of fashion and books are in.

Farther east stories are still rarer, and seem to be told rather by women than by men. The long romances of the west give place to stories about ghoete and fairies, apparitions, and dreams,—stories which would bo told in a few words, if at all, in the islands. Fairy belief is becoming a fairy tolo. In another generation it will grow into a romance, as it has in the hands of poete elsewhere, and then the whole will either be forgotten or carried from people who must work to gentles who can afford to be idle and read books. Railways, roads, newspapers, and tourists, are slowly but surely doing their accustomed work. They are driving out romaneo ; but they are not driving out the popular creed as to supernaturals. That creed will survive when the last remnant of romance has been banished, for superstition seems to belong to no one period in the history of civilization, but to all It is as rife in towns as.it is amongst the hills, and is not confined to the ignorant

I have wandered amongst the peasantry of many countries, and this trip but confirmed my old impres-

XXXJ1 INTRODUCTION.

sí on. There are few peasants that I think so highly of, none that I like so well Scotch Highlanders have faults in plenty, but they have the bearing of Nature's own gentlemen—the delicate, natural tact which discovers, and the good taste which avoids, all that would hurt or offend a guest. The poorest is ever the readiest to sliare the best he has with the stranger. A kind word kindly meant is never thrown away, and whatever may be the faults of this people, I have never found a boor or a churl in a Highland bothy.

Celts have played their part in history, and they have a part to play still in Canada and Australia, where their language and character will leave a trace if they do not influence the destiny of these new win-Ms. There are hundreds iu those distant lands, whoso language is «till Gaelic, and to whom these stories are familiar, and if this book should ever remind any of them of the old country, I shall not, have worked in vain in the land which they call " Tir nom Beann s' non gleann s' nan ghaisgach."*

So much, then, for the manner of collecting the tales, and the people who told them. The popular lore which I found current in the west, and known all over the Highlands in a greater or less degree amongst the poorer classes, consists of :—

1st. That which is called Seanachas na Finne, or Feinne, or Fiann, that is, the tradition or old history of the Feene.

This is now the rarest of any, and is commonest, so far as I know, in Barra and South Uist There are first fragments of poems which may have been taken from the printed book, which goes by the name of the History of the Finne in the Highlands, and the Poems of Ossian elsewhere. I never asked for these, but I * Tim land of hills, and glens, and heroes.

INTRODUCTION. ХХХШ

was told that the words were " sharper and deeper " than those in the printed book.

There are, secondly, poetical fragments about the same persons, which, to the best of my knowledge, are not in any printed book. I heard some of these repeated by three different men.

Patrick Smith, in South Uist, intoned a long fragment ; I should guess, about 200 lines. He recited it rapidly to a kind of chant The subject was a fight with a Norway witch, and Fionn, Diormaid, Oscar, and Conan, were named as Irish heroes. There were " ships fastened with silver chains, and kings holding them;" swords, spears, helmets, shields, and battles, were mentioned ; in short, the fragment was the same in style and machinery as the famous Poems ; and it was attributed to Ossian. The repetition began with a short prose account of what was to follow. Smith ie sixty, and says that he cannot read. He does not understand English. He says that such poems used to bo so chanted commonly when ho was young. The same account of the manner of reciting similar poems was giren me by a clergyman in Argyllshire, who said that, within his recollection, the " death of Cuchullin" used to be so recited by an old man at the head of Loch Awe.

Donald Mocintyre, in Benbccula, recited a similar fragment, which hoe since been written and sent to me. The subject is a dialogue between a lady and a messenger returning from battle, with a number of heads on a withy ; the lady asks their story, and the messenger tolls whose heads they were, and how the heroes fell It sounded better than it reads, but the transcriber had never written Gaelic before.

John Campbell, generally known as "Yellow John," living in Strath Gearrloch, about twelve miles west of

XXXIV INTRODUCTION.

Flowordale, repeated a similar fragment, which lasted for a quarter of an hour. He said he had kuown it for half a century. He is a very old man, and it is difficult to follow him, and the poetry was mingled with prose, and with " said he," " said she." It was the last remnant of something which the old man could only remember imperfectly, and which he gave in broken sentences; but here again the combat was with a Norway witch, and the scene, Ireland. Fiona Dior- maid and other such names appeared. Diarmaid had "his golden helm on his head;" his "two spears on his shoulder ;" his " narrow-pointed shield on his left arm ;" his "small shield on his right ;" his sword was " leafy," (?) leaf-shaped. And the old man believed that Diarmaid, the Irish hero, was his ancestor, and his own real name O'duine. Ho spoke of " lus chief MacCalain," and treated me with extra kindness, as a kinsman. " Will you not take some more" (milk and potatoes). "Perhaps we may never see each other again. Are we not both Campbells Î "

I heard of other men who could repeat such poems, and I have heard of such men all my life ; but as I did not set out to gather poems, I took no trouble to get them.

Two chiefs, I think one was MacLeod, sent their two foole to gather bait on the shore, and to settle a bet which fool was the best, they strewed gold on the path. One fool stopped to gather it, but the other said, " When we ore at ' golding,' let us be ' golding,' and when we are at bait-making, let us be bait-making," and he stuck to his business. My business was prose, but it may not be out of place to state my own opinion about the Ossian controversy, for I have been asked more than once if I hod found any trace of such poems.

INTRODUCTION. XXXV

I believe that there were poems of тегу old date, of which a few fragmente still exist in Scotland as pure traditions. That these related to Celtic worthies who were popular heroes before the Celts came from Ireland, and answer to Arthur nud his knights elsewhere. That the same personages have figured in poems composed, or altered, or improved, or spoilt by bards who lived in Scotland, and by Irish bards of all période ; and that these personages have been mythical heroes amongst Celts from the earliest of times. That " the poems " were orally collected by MocFherson, and by men before him, by Dr. Smith, by the committee of the Highland Society, and by others, and that the printed Gaelic is old poetry, mended and patched, and pieced together, and altered, but on the whole a genuine work. Manuscript evidence of the antiquity of similar Gaelic poems exists. Some were printed in 1807, under the authority of the Highland Society of London, with a Latin translation, notes, etc., and wore reprinted in 1818. MacPherson's " translation" appeared between 17GO and 17G2, and the controversy raged from the beginning, and is growling still ; but the dispute now is, whether the poems were originally Scotch or Irish, and how much MacPherson altered them. It is like the quarrel about the chameleon, for the languages spoken in Islay and Rathlin are identical, and the language of the poems is difficult for me, though I have spoken Gaelic from my childhood. There is no doubt at all that Gaelic poems on such subjects existed long before Mocphcrson was born ; and it is equally certain that there is no composition in the Gaelic language which bears the smallest resemblance in style to the peculiar kind of prose in which it pleased Mac- Phonon to translate. The poems have a peculiar

XXXVI INTRODUCTION.

¡•hylhm, and a style of their own which is altogether lost in his English translation. But what concerns me is the popular belief, and it seems to be this—" Mac- Pherson must have been a very dishonest person when he allowed himself to pass as the author of Ossian'a poems." So said a lady, one of my earliest friends, whose ago has not impaired her memory, and so say those who are best informed, and understand the language.

The illiterate seem to have no opinion on the subject So far as I could ascertain, few hod heard of the controversy, but they had all heard scraps of poems and stories about the Finne, all their lives ; and they are content to believe that " Ossian, the last of the Finne," composed the poems, wrote them, and burned his book in a pet, when he was old and blind, because St Patrick, or St Paul, or some other saint, would not believe his wonderful stories."

Those who would study " the controversy," will find plenty of discussion ; but the report of the Highland Society appears to settle the question on evidence. I cannot do better than quote from Johnson's Poets the opinion of a great author, who was a groat translator, who, in speaking of his own work, says :—

" What must the world think . . . After auch a judgment pasaed by 10 great a critick, the world who decides во often, and who examines so seldom ; the world who, even in mattere of literature, is almost always the slave of authority ? Who will suspect that so mach learning should mistake, that so much accuracy should be misled, or that so much candour should be biassed ? : ... I think that no translation ought to be the ground of criticism, because no man ought to be condemned upon another

man's explanation of his meaning " (Postscript to

the Odyssey, Pope's Homer, Johnson's Poets, pp. 279, 280).

And to that quotation let me add this manuscript

INTRODUCTION. XXXVU

note, which I found in a copy of the report of the Highland Society, on the poema of Ossian ; -which I purchased in December 1859 ; and which came from the library of Colonel Hamilton Smith, at Plymouth. ;

" The Reverend Dr. Campbell, of Halfway Tree. Lisnana, in Jamaica, often repeated to me in the year 1799, 1801, and 1802, parts of Guian in Uaelio ; and assured me that he bad possessed a manuscript, long the property of hit family, in which Gaelic poemt, and in particular, whole piece) of Oesian's compositions were contained. Thii he took oat with him on liis first voyage to the West Indici in 1780, when hii ibip wai captured by n boat from tlio Snntiraimn Trinidata flagship, of the wholo Spanish fleet; and ho, together with all the other passengers, lost nearly the whole of tbeir baggage, among which wai the volume in qnestion. In 1814, when I wai on the staff of General Sir 'Chômas Graham, now Lord Lyndoch, I understood that Mr. Mac- Phenon had been at one time bis tutor ; and, therefore, I asked hii opinion respecting the authenticity of the I'oema. His lordship replied that be never had any doubts on the subject, he having seen in Mr. MacPherson's positcssiun several manuscripts in the Gaelic langnage, and heard him speak of them repeatedly ; he told me some stronger particulars, which I cannot now note down, for the conversation took place during the action of our winter campaign.

(Signed) " Сшила 11 AM" SMITH, Lt.-Col."

The Colonel had the reputation of being a great antiquary, and had a valuable library. James Mac- Phereon, a " modest young man, who was master of Greek and Latin," was " procured " to be a preceptor to " the boy Tommy," who was afterwards Lord Lyndoch (according to a letter in a book printed for private circulation). Ля it appears to me, those who are ignorant of Gaelic, and now-a-days maintain that "MacPherson composed Oesian's Poems," are like critics who, being ignorant of Greek, should maintain Ihut

XXXV111 INTRODUCTION.

Pope wrote the Odyssey, and was the father of Homer ; or, being ignorant of English, should declare that Tennyson was the father of King Arthur and all his knights, because he has published one of many poems which treat of them. It was different when High- hinders were " rebels ;" and it was petty treason to deny that they were savages.

A glance at "Johnson's Tour in the Hebrides," will show the feeling of the day. He heard Gaelic songs in plenty, but would not believe in Gaelic poems. He appreciated the kindness and hospitality with which he was treated ; he praised the politeness of all ranks, and yet maintained that their language was " the rude speech of a barbarous people, who had few thoughts to express, and were content, as they conceived grossly, to be grossly understood."

He could see no beauty in the mountains which men now flock to see. He saw no fish in fording northern rivers, and explains how the winter torrents sweep them away ; the stags were " perhaps not bigger than our fallow-deer ;" the waves were not larger than those on the coast of Sussex ; and yet, though the Doctor would not believe in Gaelic poems, he did believe that peat grow as it was cut, and that the vegetable part of it probably caused a glowing redness in the earth of which it is mainly composed ; and ho came away willing to believe La the second sight, though not quite convinced.

That sturdy old Briton, the great lexicographer, who is an honour to his country, was not wholly free from national prejudice ; he erred in some things ; he may have erred in a matter of which he could not well judge ; he did not understand Gaelic ; he did not believe in traditions ; he would not believe in the translations ; and MacPherson seems to have ended by

INTRODUCTION. XXXÍX

encouraging the public belief that be was the author of poems which had gained so wide a celebrity.

Matters have changed for the better since those days ; Celt and Saxon are no longer deadly foes. There still exists, as I am informed, an anti-Celtic society, whose president, on state occasions, wears three pairs of trousers ; but it is no longer penal to dispense with these garments ; and there are Southerns who discard them altogether, when they go north to pursue the little stage on the ugly hills, and catch fish in the torrente.

There are Celtic names in high places, in India, and at home ; and an English Duke is turning the Gaelic of Ossian's poems into English verse.

This, however, is foreign to my subject, though it bears somewhat on the rest of the traditions of the Finne. I have stated my own opinion because I hold it, not because I wish to influence those who differ from me. I have no wish to stir up the embers of an expiring controversy, which was besprinkled with peculiarly acrid ink, and obscured by acid fumes. I neither believe that MacPherson composed Ossiim, nor tliat Ossian composed all the poems which bear his name. I am quite content to believe Ossian to have been an Irishman, or a Scotchman, or a myth, on sufficient evidence.

Besides these few remnants of poetry which still survive, I find a great many prose tales relating to the heroes of the poems ; and as these personages certainly were popular heroes in Ireland and in Scotland centuries ago, I give what I have gathered concerning them, with the conviction that it is purely Celtic tradition.*

• See page 256 of " Scotland in the Middle Ages," by Coemo Inne«, EdmoDiton and Douglas, I860, for erideue taken from

Xl INTRODUCTION.

The Seannachas of the Fine consists, then, of poetry already printed; fragments which are not in print, so far as I know, and which are now тегу rare ; and prose tales which are tolerably common, but rapidly disappearing.

In all these, according to tradition, Fionn, Diar- maid, and the rest, are generally represented as Irish worthies. The scone is often laid in Ireland ; but there are hundreds of placea in Scotland in which some of the exploits are said to have been performed. I know not how many cairns are supposed to contain the bones of the wild boar, whose bristles wounded the feet of Diarmaid when he paced his length against the hair ; Kyle Reay, in Skye, is named after a giant warrior who leaped the strait There are endless mountains bearing Ossianic names in all parts of Scotland, and even in the Isle of Han the same names aro to be found mixed up with legenda In April 1860, I met a peasant near Bamsay who knew the name of Fin MacCoul, though he would not say a word about him to me. In Train's history of the island, published by Mary Quiggin, 1845, at page 359, is this note :—

"In a letter, dated 20th September 1844, from a highly rt<- epccteJ correspondent in the lele of Man, he ваув—' Are you aware that the septennial appearance of the island, said to bo submerged in the sea by enchantment near Fort Soderick, is expected about the end of this month.' Though the spell by which this fancified island has been bound to the bottom of the ocean since the days of the great Fin M'Coul, and its inhabitants transformed into blocks of granite, might, according to popular belief, be broke by placing a bible on any part of the enchanted land when at its original altitude above the waters of the deep, where

" The fathers of our Scotch literature," and the report of thu Highland Society

INTRODUCTION. XU

it is permitted to remain only for the short epace of thirty minotei. Mo person has yet had the hardihood to make the attempt, lest, in cue of failure, the enchanter, in revenge, might CMt hii club over Mona also."

And in Crcgeen's Monks dictionary, by the same publisher, 1836, is this M sinks proverb—

" Ny three geayghyn §' feayrey dennee Fion M'Cooil Qeay hennen, as geay huill, At geay fo ny shianill."

Which I understand to mean—

The three coldest winds that came to Fion M'Cooil, Wind from a thaw, wind from a hole, And wind from under the Bails,

In short, I believe that the heroes of Ossian belong to the race, not to any one set of poema, or to any single branch of the Celtic language.

2(1 There are tales, not necessarily about the Fine, consisting partly of plain narrative and dialogue, which vary with every narrator, and probably more or less every time the story is told ; and partly of a kind of measured prose, which is unlike anything I know in any other language. I suspect that these have been compositions at some time, but at what time I cannot erven guess.

These almost always relate to Ireland and Scandinavia; to boats, knights, swords, and shields. Thero are adventures under ground, much battle, generally an island with lire about it (perhaps Iceland), and a lady to be carried off. There is often an old woman who has some mysterious vessel of balsam which brings the dead to life, and a despised character who turns out to be the real hero, sometimes a boaster who is held up to ridicule. I believe those to be bardic recitations fast disappearing and changing into prose ;

xlii INTBODÜOTION.

for the older the narrator is, the less educated, and the farther removed from the rest of the world, the more his stories are garnished with these passages. "Fin MacCumhal goes to Graffee," puhlished in 1867 from Mayo, is evidently a translation of a tale of this kind. In all these, the scene is laid in Eirinn and Loch- Ian, now Ireland and Scandinavia, and these would seem to have been border countries. Perhaps the stories relate to the time when the Scandinavians occupied part of the Western Isles.

3d. There is popular history of events which really happened within the last few centuries : of this, I have gathered none, but I heard a great deal in a very short time, and I have heard it all my life. It is a history devoid of dates, but with clear starting points. The event happened at the time of Shamas (James) at the battle of Shirra Muir ; at Invorlochy ; after Culloden. The battle was between MacNeill and MacLeod. MacLeod came from that castle. They met on that strand. The dead are buried there. Their descendants now live in such a place. He was the last man hanged in Harris. That is called the slab of lamentation, from which the MacLeans embarked for Ireland when the MacDonalds had conquered them, and taken the land. MacLcan exposed his wife on the Lady Bock because she had made his servant blow up one of the ships of the Spanish Armada, for jealousy of the Spanish lady who was on board. The history is minute and circumstantial, and might be very interesting if faithfully collected, but it is rather local than national, and is not within the scope of my work. It is by far the most abundant popular lore, and has still a great hold on the people. The decision of a magistrate in a late case of " Sapaid" (broken heads) was very effective, because he appealed to this feeling. It was

INTRODUCTION. »lin

thus described to me : " Ah I he gave it to them. He leant back in his chair, and spoke grandly for half au hour. He said you are as wUd men fighting together in the days of King Shamas."

4th. There are tales which relate to men and •women only, and to events that might have happened anywhere at any time. They might possibly be true, and equally true, whether the incidents happened to mi Eastern sage or a wise old Highlander. Such tales as Nos. 19 and 20. These are plentiful, and their characteristic is sagacity and hidden meaning.

•5tli. There are children's tales, of which some arc given. They are in poetry and prose as elsewhere, and 1юлг a general resemblance to euch tales all over the world. The cat and the mouse play parts in the nursery drama of the Western Isles, as well as in "Contes et Apologues Indiens inconnus jusqu' a ce jour," etc. ; a translation into French, by Mr. Stanislaus Julien, in I860, of Chinese books, which were translated into that language from Sanscrit in 1665, by a Chinese doctor, and President of the Ministry of Justice, who composed " The Forest of Comparisons," in twenty-four volumes, divided into 20 classes, and subdivided into 60S sections, after twenty years of hard labour, during which he abstracted about 400 works. This is the name of one : Fo-choue-kiun- ni eon-pi-king.

Let those who call Gaelic hard, try that ; or this : Tchong-king-siouen-tei-pi-yu-king.

Let those who contemn nursery rhymes, think of the French savant, and the Chinese cabinet minister, and the learning which they have bestowed on the conversations of cate and mice.

6th, Riddles and puzzles, of which there are a very great number. They are generally descriptive, euch as,

INTRODUCTION.

"No bigger than a barley corn, it covers the king's board"—-(the eye). I have given a few. If any despise riddles, let them bear in mind that the Queen of Sheba is believed to have propounded riddles to Solomon, and that Samson certainly proposed a riddle to the Philistines. I am told that riddles are common in India now.

7th. Proverbs, in p"rose and in verse, of which 1515 were printed in 1819, and many more are still to be got. Many are evidently very old from their construction, and some are explained by the stories, for example, " Blackberries in February " has no very evident meaning, but a long story explains that difficulties may be vanquished. A king's son was sent by a stepmother to get " that which grew, and is neither crooked nor straight"—(sawdust). " Blackberries in February," which he found growing in a charnel-house, and a third thing, equally easy to find when the way was known.

8th. There are songs, of which there are a vast number, published and unpublished, of all sorts and kinds, sung to wild and peculiar tunes. They are condemned and forbidden in some districts, and are vanishing rapidly from all. These used to be sung continually within my recollection, and many of them are wild, and, to my ear, beautiful. There are songs composed in a particular rhythm for rowing, for washing clothes by dancing on them ; songs whose rhythm resembles a piobroch ; love songs ; war songs ; songs which are nearly all chorus, and which are composed as they are sung. The composer gives out a single lino applicable to anything then present, and the chorus nib up the time by singing and clapping hands, till the second line is prepared. I have known such lines .fired at a sportsman by a bevy of girls who were

INTRODUCTION. х

waulking blankets in a byre, and who made the gun and the dog the theme of several stanzas. Keid's Bibliotheca Scoto Céltica, 1832, gives a list of eighty- one Gaelic books of poetry printed since 1785. There are hymn books, song books, and poetry, composed by known and unknown bards, male and female. Of the former, Mackenzie, in his beauties of Gaelic poetry, gives a list of thirty-two, with specimens of their works and a short biography. Of the latter class, the unknown poets, there are many at the present day, and who is to guess their number in times when men did nothing but fight and sing about their battles. A very few of these bards have become known to the world by name, and, in all probability their merits never will be known. Let any one translate Sir Patrick Spens or Annie Laurie into French or Greek, or read a French translation of Waverley, and the effect of translation on such compositions will be evident

9th. The romantic popular tales of which this collection mainly consiste.

I presume that I have said enough as to their collection, and that I may now point out what seems to me to be their bearing on the scientific part of the subject ; that I may take them as traditions, and argue from them as from established facts. I have endeavoured to show how, when, and where I got the stories ; each has its own separate pedigree, and I have given the original Gaelic, with the closest translation which I was able to make.

Now, let me mention the works in which I have found similar tales, and which are within the reach of all who can read English. First—Tales from the Norse, translated by G. W. Dosent, published 1859. Many of the Gaelic tales collected in 1859 resemble these very closely. The likeness is pointed out in the notes.

' INTRODUCTION.

It is impossible that tho book could baye become known to the people who told the stories within the time, but if it were, a manuscript which has been lent to me by the translator, proves that the stories were known in Scotland before the translation from the Norse was made public.

It is a verbatim copy made by a clergyman from a collection of fourteen tales, gathered by " Peter Hachan, editor of the Ancient Ballads and Songs of the North of Scotland." It is dated 1847, Glasgow ; and signed, Alexander B. Grosart. The tales are written in English, and versions of all except three, had previously come to me in Gaelic. For example, (No. 2), The Battle of the Birds closely resembles " The Master Maid" from Norway, but it still more resembles Mr. Feter Buchan's " Greensleeves," found in Scotland thirteen years before the Norse tales were translated. The manuscript was sent by Mr. Grosart, after he had read the Norse tales, and it seems to be clearly proved that these stories are common to Norway and to Scotland.

I have found very few stories of the kind amongst the peasantry of the low country, though I have sought them. I find such names as Fingal in Mr. Buchan's stories, and I know them to bo common in tho islands where the scene is often laid. The language is not that of any peasantry, and I have come to the conclusion that this collection is mostly derived from Gaelic, directly or indirectly, perhaps from the shoals nf West Highlanders and Irishmen who used to come down as shearers every harvest, and who are now scattered all over Scotland as farm-servants and drovers, and settled in Edinburgh and Glasgow as porters. I know from one of these, a drover, who goes every year to the south with cattle, that he has often entertained

INTRODUCTION. *lvÍÍ

lowland farm-servants by telling in English the stories which he learned as a child in South U ist. I know of men in Paisley, Greenock, and Edinburgh, who are noted for their knowledge of egeulachd. But while I hold that this particular collection was not told in this form by lowland Scotch peasants, I know that they still do tell such stories occasionally, and I also know that Englishmen of the lower ranks do the same. I met two tinkers in St. James's Street in February, with black faces and a pan of burning coals each. They were followed by a wife, and preceded by a mangy ( terrier with a stiff tail I joined the party, and one told me a version of " the man who travelled to learn what shivering meant," while we walked together through the park to Westminster. It was clearly the popular tale which exists in Norse, and German, and Gaelic, and it bore the stamp of the mind of the class, and of the man, who told it in his own peculiar dialect, and who dressed the actors in his own ideas. A cutler and a tinker travel together, and sleep in an empty haunted house for a reward. They are besot by ghosts and spirits of murdered ladies and gentlemen, and the inferior, the tinker, shows most courage, and is the hero. " He went into the cellar to draw beer, and there he found a little chap a-sittin' on a barrel with a red cap on 'is 'ed ; and sez he, sez he, ' Buzz.' ' Wot'e buzz Ч ' sez the tinker. ' Never you mind wot's buzz,' sez he. 'That's mine; don't you go for to touch it,' " etc. etc. etc.

In a less degree many are like the German stories of the brothers Grimm. That collection has been translated, and a book so well known may possibly have found ite way into the Highlands. It is impossible to speak with certainty ; but when all the narrators agree in saying that they have known their stories all their

HmODCCTION.

lives, and when the variation is to marked, the resemblance is rather to be attributed to common origin than to books. I only once heard of such a book in the Highlands. It was given to a gamekeeper in Sutherland for his children, and was condemned, and put out of the way as trash.

The Gaelic stories resemble in some few cases the well-known tales of Hans Andersen, founded on popular tales told in Denmark.

And they resemble sundry other books which are avowedly founded on popular tales collected in various countries.

Some are like the French tales of the Countess D'Aulnoy, which have been translated. One is Шее part of Shakspeare, but it is still more like the Italian story in Boccaccio, from which part of Cymbeline is supposed to be taken. Perhaps Shukspeare may have founded Cymbeline on a popular tale then current in £ngland as well as in Italy.

A few resemble the Arabian Nights, and in some cases I believe that the stories have been derived from early English translations of that well-known book. I used myself to read an edition of 1815 to my piper guardian, in return for his ursgeuls, but he seemed more inclined to blame the tyranny of the kings than to admire the Eastern stories.

MocLean has himself told the story of Aladdin in Gaelic as his share of a winter night's entertainment, and I have heard of several people of the poorer class who know the Arabian Nights well But such stories are easily known after a little experience has been gained. The whole of a volume is run together, the incidents follow in their order, or in something like it The difference in style is as marked as the contrast between a drift tree and a wrecked vessel, but as it

INTRODUCTION. xlÍX

is curious to trace the change from Eastern ways as seen through an English translation of a French view of the original Arabic, I give specimens. These contain the incidents embodied in stories in the Arabian Night«, but the whole machinery and decoration, manners and customs, are now as completely West Highland as if the tales had grown there. But for a camel which appears, I would almost give up my opinion, and adopt that of MacLean, who holds that even these are pure traditions.

In support of lus view it may be said that thoro are hundreds of other books as well known in England as those mentioned above, of which neither I nor my collectors have ever found a trace. Jack and the Bean-stalk, and Jack the Giant-killer, Beauty and the Beast, and the Sleeping Beauty in the Wood, as known in England, aro unknown in the Highlands. None of the adventures of Mr. Pickwick, or Sam Weller, or Jack Shepherd, or Gulliver, or Robinson Crusoe, are mixed up with the prose tales. No part of the story of Wallace, as told in the "Scottish chiefs," or of " Waverley," is to be found in popular history. There is nothing like "The Mysteries of London." There are none of the modem horrors of which ballads have been made, such as "Sad was the day when James Greenacre first got acquainted with Sarah Gale." There are no gorgeous palaces, and elegant fairies ; there are no enchanters flying in chariots drawn by winged griffins ; there are no gentle knighte and noble dames ; no spruce cavaliers and well-dressed ladies ; no heroes and heroines oí fashionable novels ; but, on the contrary, everything is popular. Heroes are as wild, and unkempt, and savage as they probably were in fact, and kings are men as they appear in Lane's translations of the Arabian Nights.

l • INTRODUCTION.

Eastern tale tellers knew what Haroun al Raschid roust have suffered when he put on the fisherman's clothes, and Mr. Lane has not scrupled to follow the original Arabic.

If the people of the West Highlands have added hook stories to their traditions, they have selected those only which were taken from peasants like themselves in other countries, and they have stripped off all that was foreign to their own manners. The people have but taken back their own.

Besides books accessible to all English readers, I find similar stories in books beyond the reach of the people. • I have pointed out in the notes all that were within my reach, and came under my notice ; but this part of the subject is a study, and requires time to acquire knowledge which I do not possess.

Such, then, is the evidence which bears on the immediate origin of the stories. I believe them to be pure traditions, very little affected by modern books, and, if at all, only by those which are avowedly taken from popular tales. A trip of five days in the Isle of Man in April 1860 has but confirmed this opinion.

That island, in spite of its numerous rulers, is still peculiarly Celtic. It has belonged to Norwegians. English, Scotch, Welsh, and Irish have fought for it It has a Law Court with a Norwegian name held on a mound ; half the names in the island are Norse, such as Laxey (Salmon isthmus), Langness, Snofell ; but these names are not understood by the people who live at the places. Peel has a descriptive Gaelic name, which means island port ; a Salmon is Braddan, not Lax ; and of the poorer classes living in the mountain farms, and on the points and distant corners of the island, there are still many who can hardly speak anything but Manks. Their hair is dark ; the sound of their voices,

INTRODUCTION. H

even their houses, are Celtic. I know one turf dwelling which might be a house in North UЫ. There was the fire on the floor, the children seated around it, the black haired Celtic mother on a low stool in front,— the hens quarrelling about a nest under the table, in which several wanted to lay eggs at once.

" Get out, Polly ! Drive her out, John ! " And then John, the son, drove out Folly, the hen, with a stick ; and the hen said, " Gurr-r-m ; " and ran in under the table again and said, " Cluck, cluck," and laid the ogg then and there. There woe the same kindly, hospitable manner in the poorest cottage ; and I soon found that a Scotch Highlander could speak Monks as soon as he could acquire the art of mispronouncing his own language to the right amount, and learn where to introduce the proper English word. " La fine "—fine day—was the salutation everywhere ; and the reply, "Fine, fine." But though nouns are almost the same, and the language is but a dialect of Gaelic, the foreigner was incomprehensible, because he could not pronounce as they did ; and I was reduced to English. Now this island is visited every summer by shoals of visitors from the mainland ; steam-boats bring them from Liverpool, a thousand at a time, and they sweep over the whole country. If visitors import stories, here, there are plenty of strangers, and I was a stranger myself. If stories are imported in books, here are the books also. The first picture I wiw on landing was a magnificent Bluebeard in a shop window. He was dressed as an Eastern potentate, and about to slice off his wife's head with a crooked scimitar, while the two brothers rode up to the gate on prancing steeds, with horror on their faces and swords in their hands. But there was not a trace of any of that kind of story to be found amongst the peasants with whom I spoke in the Isle of Man.

INTRODUCTION.

I found them willing to talk, eager to question, kindly, homely folk, with whom it was easy to begin an acquaintance. I heard everywhere that it used to be common to hear old men telling stories about the fire in Manks ; but any attempt to extract a story, or search out a queer old custom, or a half-forgotten belief, seemed to act as a pinch of snuff does on a snail

The Manksman would not trust the foreigner with his secrets ; his eye twinkled suspiciously, and his hand seemed unconsciously to grasp his mouth, as if to keep all fast. After getting quite at ease with one old fellow over a pipe, and having learned that a neighbour's cow had born a calf to the " Taroo ustey," water bull, I thought I might fish for a story, and told one as a bait.

" That man, if he had two pints, would tell you stories by the hour," said a boy. " Oh, yes, they used to tell plenty of stories," said the old man, " Skyll as we call them."

Here was the very word mispronounced, " sgeul," so my hopes rose. " Will you tell me a story now 1" " Have you any churches in your country ?" " Yes, and chapels ; but will you tell me a story 1" " What you got to sell in your bag 1" " What a ehame now, for you, an old mananach, not to tell me a story when I have told you one, and filled your pipe and all." " What do you pay for the tobacco Î" " Oh, will you not tell the man a story I" said the boy. " I must go and saw now," said the old man ; and so we parted.

But though this was the usual tiling, it was not always so ; and it soon became evident that the stories given in Tram's history of the Isle of Man, are nearly all known to the people now ; and these are of the same nature as some known in the Highlands of Scot-

INTHODUCTION. luí

Inn J ; some aro almost identical ; and nearly all the Manke customs are common to the Western Isles.

Thus I heard of Fairies, "Ferish," who live in green mounds, and are heard at times dressing mill-stones in haunted mills ; of Taroo Ustey, the water bull ; of Dinny Мага, the sea man, and of the Mermaid ; of Cavnl Ustey, the water horse ; of Fion MacCooil ; of a city under the wares ; of a magic island seen in the far west. I heard of giants. No one would tell about them ; but in a book I found how Goddard Crovon threw a vast boulder at hie scolding wife, and how a Norman baron, named " Kitter " and his cook ; " Eaoch," and his magic sword, " Macubain," made by " Loan Maclibhuin, the dark smith of Dron- theim ;" and " Hiallus-nan-urd, the one-legged hammerman"—are all woven into a story, and mixed up with such Norwegian names as Olave and Emergaid, exactly as a story is jumbled together in the Western Isles of Scotland.

I got some stories which I have not found in the Manks books, so I give them hero, in the hope that some Manksnum may be induced to gather the popular lore of hie own country. This from a woman who lives near the Calf of Man.

" Did you ever hear tell of the Glashan t" " No ; tell me about the Glashan." " Well, you «ce, in the old time« the; need to be keeping the •beep in the fold« ; and one night an old man forgot to put them in, and he nent oat bii son, and he came back and said the iheep were all folded, bat there «as a year-old lamb, ouht playing the mischief with them ; and that wai the glaeban.

" Yon aee they were тегу strong, and when they wanted a itack threched, though it was a whole stack, the glaahan would Нате it thmhed for them in one night

" And they were running after the women. There wa» one of them once caught a girl, and had a hoold of her by the dree«,

1ÍT INTRODUCTION.

and he eat down and be fell asleep ; and then abe cat away all the drees, you see, round about, tins way, and left it in hie fist and ran away ; and when he awoke, be threw what he had over his shoulder, this way ; and he said (something in Manks which I could not catch).

" Well, you see, one night the ould fellow sent all the women to bed, and be put on a cap and a woman's «Irons, and he eat down by the fire and he began to spin ; and the young glasbans, they came in, and they began saying something in Manks that means ' Are you turning the wheel ? are yon trying tbe reel ?' Well, the ould gloshan, he was outside, and he knew better than the young ones ; he knew it was the ould fellow himself, and he was telling them, but they did not mind him ; and so the ould man threw a lot of hot turf, yon see, it was turf they burned then, over them and burned them ; and the onld one said (something in Manks). ' Voii '11 not understand that, now ?' ' Yes, I do, pretty nearly.' ' Ah, well.' And so the glashans went away and never came back any moro.1'

" Нате you many stories like that, guidwifo?" "Ah," said ehe, " there were plenty of people that could tell these stories once. When I was a little girl, I used to hear them telling them in Manks over the fire at night ; but people is so changed with pride now that they care for nothing."

Now hero is a story which is all over the Highlands in various shapes. Sometimes it is a Brolliclmn son of the 1ч ml 11, or a young water horse transformed into the likeness of a man, which attacks a lonely woman, and gets burned or scalded, and goes away to his friends outside. In the islands, the woman generally says her name is myself ; and the goblin answers, when asked who burned him, " myself" This Manks story is manifestly the same, though this incident is left out. I have heard it in Lewes, and in many places besides, and port of it is best omitted.

The Gloshan, as I found out afterwards, frequented neighbouring farms till within a very late period. He wore no clothes, and was hairy ; and, according to

INTRODUCTION. IT

Train's history, Phynoddepee, which means something hairy, was frightened away by a gift of clothes,— exactly as the Skipness long-haired Gruagach was frightened away by the offer of a coat and a cap. The Manks brownie and the Argyllshire one each repeated a rhyme over the clothes ; but the rhymes are not the same, though they amount to the same thing.

Here, then, is a Gaelic popular tale and belief in Man ; and close to it I found a story which has a counterpart in Grimm. I heard it from my landlady at Port Erin, and I mot two Manksiuen afterwards who knew it—

•• The fiib all gathered once to choose a king ; and the fluke, him that haï the red ipota on him, stayed at home to make himself prettj, patting on hie red spots, to see if he would be king, and he was too late, for when he came the herring was king of the sea. So the flake curled his mouth on one side, and said, ' A simple fish like the herring, king of the sea I' and his mouth has been to one side ever since."

It seems, too, that the Manks version of "Jack tho Giant Killer " varios from tlio English ; for

"Jack the Giant Killer,"

" Varv a Vuchd in the river,"

killed a pig in the river; and the English hero did nothing of the sort. In short, the Isle of Man has its own legends, which have their own peculiarities ; they resemble others, and do not seem to be taken from books. The same class of people toll them there as elsewhere ; the difficulty of getting at them is the same ; arid the key to the secret is the native language. From what I gleaned in a five days' walk, I am sure that a good Maukeman might yet gather a large harvest within a very narrow •pace. And now to return to my own subject

I find that men of all ranks resemble each other ; that each branch of popular lore has ite own special

Ivi INTRODUCTION.

votaries, as branchée of literature havo amongst the learned ; that one man is the peasant historian and tells of the battles of the clans ; another, a walking peerage, who knows the descent of most of the families in Scotland, and all about his neighbours and their origin; others are romancers, and tell about the giants ; others are moralists, and prefer the sagacious prose tales, which have a meaning, and might have a moral ; a few know the history of the Feni, and are antiquarians. Many despise 1 ho whole as frivolities ; they are practical moderns, and answer to practical men in other ranks of society.

But though each prefers his own subject, the best Highland story-tellers know specimens of all kinds. Start them, and it seems as if they would never stop. I timed one, and he spoke for an hour without pauso or hesitation, or verbal repetition. His story was Connall Qulban, and he said he could repeat fourscore. He recited a poem, but despised " Bardism ; " and he followed me six miles in the dark to my inn, to tell me numbers 19 and 20, which I have condensed ; for the very same thing can bo shortly told when it is not a composition. For example.

In tolling a story, narrative and dialogue are mixed ; what the characters havo told each other to do is repeated as narrative. The-people in the story tell it to each other, and branch off into discussions about their horses and houses and crops, or anything that happens to turn up. One story grows out of another, and the tree is almost hidden by a foliage of the speaker's invention. Here and there comes a passage repeated by rote, and common to many stories, and to every good narrator. It seems to act as a rest for the memory. Now and then, an observation from the audience starts an argument In short, one good story

INTRODUCTION. IvÜ

in the mouth of a good narrator, with a good audience, might easily go rambling on for a whole winter's night, as it is said to do.

The " Slim Swarthy Champion used to last for four hours." Connall Gulban " used to last for three evenings. Those that wanted to hear the end had to come back." One of my collectors said it would take him a month to write it down, but I am bound to add that he has since done it in а тегу much shorter time. I have heard of a man who fell asleep by the fire, and found a story going on when he awoke next morning. I hnvo one fragment on which (as I nui told) an old man in Ross-shire used to found twenty- four stories, all of which died with him.

There are varieties in public speakers amongst the people as amongst their representatives, for some are eloquent, some terse, some prosy.

But though a tale may be spun out to any extent, the very same incidents can be, and often are, told in a few words, and those tales which have been written for mo aro fair representations of them as they are usually told. They are like a good condensed report of a rambling speech, with extraneous matter left out One narrator said of the longest story which I had then got—" It is but the contents ;" but I have more than once asked a narrator to tell me the story which he had previously told to one of my collectors, and a collector to write down a story which I had previously heard, and I have always found the pith, often the very words. In no instance have I found anything added by those whom I employed, when their work was subjected to this severe test.

This is the account which one of my collectors gives of the old customs of his class—he is a workman employed by the Duke of Argyll ; he tells me that he d

Iviíi INTRODUCTION.

is sclf-educatod ; and as ho repeats some of the stories which lie lias written, from memory, his account of the way in which he acquired them is valuable.

I remember, upwards of fifty years ago, when I woe a boy, my futher lived in the fareet north house, in the valley called Glen-na Cullanach. I aleo used to be with my granfnthcr ; ho lived near Torbert, Lochlomond side. I remember, in the winter nights, when a few old people would be together, they would pass the time with telling each other stories, which they had by tradition. I used to listen attentively, and hear them telling about the ceatharnaich, or freebooters, which used to come to plunder the country, and take away cattle ; and how their ancestor* would gather themselves together to 6ght for their property, the battles they fought, and the kind of weapons they used to fight with ¡the manners of their ancestors, the dress they used to wear, and différent hardships they had to endure.

I was also sometimes amused, listening to some people telling Gaelic romances, which we called sgculachds. It was customary for a few youngsters to gather into one house, and whither idle or at some work, such as knit ing stockings or spinning, they would amuse each other with some innocent diversion, or telling sgeul- achds. Us that was chieldren was very fond of listening to them, and the servant maid that was in my father's house would often tell us a sgculuchd to keep us queit.

In those days, when people killed their Marte cow they keept the hide, and tanned it for bather to themselves. In thoso days every house was furnished with a wheel and a rool ; tho women spun, and got their webs woven by a neighbouring weaver ; also, the women was dyers for themselves, so that the working class had their leather, their linen, and their cloth of their own manufacturing ; and when they required the help of a shoemaker, or of a tailor, they would send for them. The tailors and shoemakers went from house to house, to work wherever they were required, and by travelling the country so much, got aquaint with a great maney of the traditionary tales, and divulged them through the country ; and as the country people made the telling of these tales, and listening to hear them, their winter night's amusement, scarcely aney part of them would be lost. Some of

INTRODUCTION. liX

these romances il supposed to be оГ great antiquity, on account of some of the Gaelic words being out of use now. I remember, about forty years ngo, of being in company with я man that was watching at night ; he wished me to stop with him, and he told me a (sgeulachd) romance ; and last year 1 heard a man telling the same story, about therty miles distante from where I had heard it told forty years before that ; and the man which told me the tale could not tell me the meaning of some of the old Gaelic words that was in it. At 6rst I thought they were foreign words, but at last I recollected to have heard sonic of them repeated in Ossian's poems, and it was by the words that was before, and after them, that 1 understood the meaning of them, llio same roan told me another story, which he said ho learned from his granfalhcr, nnd Denmark, Sweddcn, and Noraway was named in it in Gaelic, but he forgot the name of the two last- named places.

It appears likely to me, that some of these talcs wns invented by the Druid«, and told to the people as sermons ; and by these tales the people was caused to believe that there was fairies which lived in little conical hills, and that the fairies bad the power of being either visible or invisible, as they thought proper, nnd that they had the power of enchanting people, and of Inking them awny and makn fairies nf them ; and thnl tho Druids had charms which would prevent that ; and they would give these charms to the people for payment; and mancy stories would be told about people being taken awny by the fairies, and the charms which had to be used to break the spell, and get them back agnin ; and others, on account of some neglidgeance, never got back aney more.

Also thnt there was witches ; people which had communication with an evil spirit, from which they got the power of changing themselves into aney shape they pleased ; that these witches often put themselves in the simpe of beasts, and when they were in the shape of beasts, that they had some evil design in view, •nd that it was dangerous to meet them. Also that they could, and did, somet ¡met take away the produce of people's dairy, and sometimes of the whole farm. The Druidical priests pretended that they had charms that would prevent the witches from doing •ney barm, and they would give a charm for payment. When the first day of summer came, the people waa taught to put tb«

Il INTRODUCTION.

fire out of their houses, and to placo it on some émince near the house for to keep awny the witches, und tlmt it was not safe for them to kindle a fire in their house aney more, until they bought it from heil' l druide. That fire was called beil-teine (beils- flre), and the first day of summer was called beil-fires day ; and also when the first night of winter came, the people would gather fuel and make blazing fire for to keep away the witches, or at least to deprive them of the power of taking away the produce of the farm, and then they would go to the Druid and buy a kindling of what was called the holy fire. The Druids also caused tho people to believe that some families had been enchanted and changed into beasts, and as the proper means hnd not been used, the spell was never broken ; and that «wans, teals, and mar- maids had been different beings, familys that had been enchanted. Beil or Beul was the name which the Druids gave their god, and the Druids of Beil pretended to be the friends of the people ; they pretended to have charms to cure different kinds of diseases, and ulso charms to prevent fairies, ghosts, and witches, from annoying or harming people. It is a well-known fact, that tho superstitions of the Druids has been handed down from generation to generation for a great maney ages, and is not wholy extinct yet ; and we have reason to believe that some of the tales, which wan invented in those days for to fright the people, has been told and kept in rememberance in the self and same manner. The priests of Beil was the men that was culled Druids, the miracles which they pretended to perform was called meur- blieiloachd (boil-fingering), and their magic which they pretended to perform was called druichd (druidisom), and we have plenty of reason to believe superstitious talos as well as superstition, originated among the Druids. JOHN DKWAH.

"J. Campbell, Esq.

" SIR—I hope you will corect aney errors that you may find on this piece which I wrote."

I have corrected only two or three errors in spelling, and the writing is remarkably clear, but I have left some words which express the Qaelic pronunciation of English.

The derivation of Мюввпшь, a marvel, from the finger of Bel, was suggested by Dr. Smith (see Armstrong's Die.) J.F.C.

INTRODUCTION. LU

Now let me return to the cottage of old Macphie, where I heard a version of the Sea-Maiden, and let me suppose that one of the rafters is the drift log which I saw about to be added to a roof in the name island.

The whole roof is covered with peat soot, but that may be scraped away, and the rough wood appears. There are the holes of boring sea shells, filled with sand and marine products. It is evident that the log came by sea, that it did not come in a ship, and that it was long enough in warm salt water for the barnacles to live and die, and for their dwellings to bo filled with sea rubbish ; that it floated through latitudes where barnacles live. Tim fairy eggs, which are picked up on the same shore, point to the West Indies as a stage on the way. Maps of ocean currents shew the gulf-stream flowing from the Gulf of Mexico past the Hebrides, but the tree is a fir, for there is a bit of bark which proves the fact, and it appears that pines grow between 40° and 60° in America. It is therefore possible that tlio rafter was once an American fir tree, growing in the liocky Mountains; that it was swept into the Mississippi, and carried to the Gulf of Mexico ; drifted by the gulf- stream post the West India Islands to the Hebrides, and stranded by a western gale on its voyage to Spitzbergen. Hut all this must have happened long ago, for it i* now a rafter covered with the soot of generations. That rafter is a strange fact, it is one of a scries, and has to be accounted for. There it is, and a probable account of its journey is, that it came from East to West without the help of man, in obedience to laws which govern the world.

That smoked rafter certainly was once a seed in a fir-cone, somewhere abroad. It grew to be a pine tree ; it must have been white with snow in winter, and green in summer, and glittering with rain drops and

Lui INTRODUCTION.

hoar-frost in bright sunshine at various times and seasons. The number of years it stood in the forest can be counted by the rings in the wood. It is certain that it was torn up by the roots, for the roots are there still It may have formed a part of one of these wonderful natural rafts of the Mississippi, of which one in 1816 was "no less than ton miles in length, two hundred and twenty yards wide, and eight foot deep."* It has been to warm seas, and has worn a marine dress of green and brown since it lost its own natural dress of green branches. Birds must have sat on it in the forest,—crabs and shells have lived on it at sea, and fish must have swam about it ; and yet it is now a rafter, hung with black pendants of peat smoke. A tree that grew beside it may now be in Spitzbergen amongst walrusses. Another may be a snag in the Mississippi amongst alligators, destined to become a fossil tree in a coal field. Part of another may be a Yankee rocking chair, or it may be part of a ship in any part of the World, or the tram of a cart, or bit of a carriage, or a wheel-barrow, or а gate post, or anything that can be made of fir wood anywhere ; and the fate of stories may be as various as that of fir trees, but their course may be guessed at by running a back scent overland, as I have endeavoured to follow the voyage of a drift log over sea.

Mucphie's story began thus :—" There was a poor old fisher in Skye, and his name was Duncan ; " and every version of the story which I have found in the Highlands, and I have found many, is as highland as the ]>eat-rcek on the rafters. The same story is known in many districts in Scotland, and it is evident, that it has been known there for many years. It is a curious fact. It is worth the trouble of looking under what is purely highland, to see if its origin con be discovered. • Lyell'e Principios of Geology, p. 267.

INTRODUCTION. Ixiií

First, then, the incidents are generally strong together in a particular order in the Highlands, but, either separately or together, every incident in the story is to bo found in some shape in other languages. Norse has it as " Shortehonks." Irish has it German bos it It is in the, Italian of Straparola as " For- tunio." In the French of le Cabinet des Feds, 1785. It is in every language in Europe as "St George and the Dragon." It is in Mr. Peter Buchon's English of 1847 as part of " Greensleeves." It is in " Perseus and Andromeda." Tim scene of that story is placed in Syria, and it is connected with Persia. There U something in Sanscrit about Indra, a god who recovered the stolon cattle of the gods, but here the scent is very cold, and the hound at fault, though it seems that the Sanscrit hero was the sun personified, and that he hod horses of many colours, including red and white, which wore always feminine, as the horses in Gaelic stories arc, and which hod wings and flew through the air. Them were "Svonkas," with beautiful steps. " líohitas," red or brown ; Gaelic, horses art- often described as " Seang," " lluodh ;" and here seems to be a clue which is worth the attention of Eastern scholars.

There is a mermaid in the story, and mermaid» are mentioned in Irish, and in Arabic, and in Monks, and Italian : men even assert that they have seen mermaids in the sea within the lost few years, amongst the Hebrides and olf Plymouth.

There are creatures, Falcon, Wolf and Lion. Two of them were natives within historic times, one is still ; but the third is a foreigner. There is an Otter, and a Sea Monster, and in other tales, there are Bears and Doves, and other animals ; but every one of them, except Hie monster, is to bo found on the road to

llÍT INTRODUCTION.

the land where Sanscrit was spoken, and all these, and many more, play their part in popular tales elsewhere, while no real animal is ever mentioned which is peculiar to lands out of the road which leads overland to India

Nearly all these have Gaelic names, and most of them are still living within a few days' journey of the Hebrides under other names. I saw a live wolf from a diligence one fine morning in Brittany, and I have seen bears in Scandinavia and in Germany. Tin only far-fetched animal is the Lion, and in another story a similar creature appears as " Cu Seang." Here is a fresh scent—for Sing is Lion in India—and may once have meant Lion in Gaelic ; for though Leonih- an is Им-, word now used, Soang is applied to anything slender and active. Sliuno is a dog in Sanscrit, Siunnach a fox in Gaelic, and there ore many other Gaelic words which point to the " eastern origin of Celtic nations." The story cannot have crossed the sea from the West It is therefore probable that it came from the East, for it is not of home growth, and the . question is, how did it get to Barra Ч

It seems to have been known along a certain track for many ages. It is possible that it came from the far East with the people, and that it has survived ever since. It is hard to account fur it otherwise. Those who have most studied the subject so account for popular tales elsewhere, and, therefore, John Macphie's story of the Sea-Maiden acquires an interest not all its own.

Much has been written, and said, and discovered about the popular migrations which have poured from East to West, and which are moving on still. Philology has mapped out the course of the human stream, and here, in the mind of an old fisherman, unable to

INTRODUCTION. Ixv

read, or to speak any language but his own, is the end of a clue which seems to join Iran and Eirinn ; as a rafter in his hut may link him with the Rocky Mountains.

Admit that this so-called fiction, and others like it, may bo traditions, which havo existed from the earliest of times, and every word and incident acquires an interest, for it may lead to something else.

The story certainly grew in the mind of man, as a tree grows from a seed, but when or where ? It has certainly been told in many languages. It is worth inquiring how many races have told it.

The incidents, like drift trees, have been associated with people and events, as -various as birds, fish, alligators, walrusses, and men ; mountain ranges, and ocean currents. They have passed through the minds of Ovid and John Mncphie. They have been adorned by poets, painted by artists, consecrated by priests,— for St. George is the patron saint of England ; and now wo find that which may havo sprung from some quarrel about a cow, and which has passed through so many changes, dropping into forgctfulncss in the mind of an old fisherman, and surrounded with the ideas which belong to his every-day Ufe. Ideas differing from those of the people who first invented the story, as the snow of the Rocky Mountains differs from peat-reek.

Now, to look forwards, and follow in imagination the shoals of emigrants from Germany, Scandinavia, Franco, Ireland, and Scotland, who are settled in clumps, or scattered over America and Australia ; to think of the stories which have been gathered in Europe from those people alone, and which thoy havo most certainly carried with them, and will tell their children ; and then the route of popular tales here-

INTRODUCTION.

after, and their spread in former ages, can be traced and may be guessed.

I have inquired, and find that several Islanders, who used to tell the stories in Gaelic, are now settled in Australia and Canada. One of my relatives was nearly overwhelmed with hospitality in an Australian village, by a colony of Argyllshire Celts, who had found out that he was a countryman.

I was lately told of a party of men who landed in South America, and addressed a woman whom they found in a hut, in seven ditferent languages ; but in vain. At last, one of them spoke Gaelic, which he had • not done for many years, and she answered, "Well, it is to thyself I would give the speech," for she was a native of Strathglas.

Thoro is a Gaelic population in Upper Canada : there uro Highland rugiincnts in India : many of tho Arctic explorers were Highlanders, and most of the servants of the Hudson's Bay Company still are : Dr. Livingstone is in South Africa ; and what is true of Highlanders is equally true of Germans and Scandinavians, they are spread over the world. In short, the " migration of races," and " the diffusion of popular tales," is still going on, the whole human ruco is mingling together, and it is fair to argue from such tacts, and to try to discover that wliich is unknown from that which is proved.

What is true of one Gaelic story is true of nearly all ; they contain within themselves evidence that they have been domesticated in the country for a long time, and that they came from the East, but they belong to the people now, wherever they came from ; and they seem also to belong to the language.

Poems and compositions clearly do. In the prose tales, when animals speak, they talk in their natural

INTRODUCTION.

key, so long as they epeak Gaelic, and for that reason, among others, I believe them to be old traditions. The little birds spenk in the key of all little birds (ее) ; they sny, "bccg, beeg." The crow croaks his own music when lie says, " gawrag, gawrag." • When driven to say, " silly, silly," he no longer speaks the language of nature. Grimm's German frog says, " warte, warte," ho sings, " mach mir auf," and talks his own language. So does his Gaelic relative, in No. 33, when he says,—

" A chaomhng л chaombng An cuimhne ach Icat An grail nil h bcag A thug ilm aig An tobar Dhomh A ghaoil a ghaoil."

He then imitates the quarking and gurgling of real frogs in a pond in spring, in sounds which no Saxon letters can express ; but when he sings,—

" Open tlm door, my hinncy, my heart, Upen Ihn door, my ai n wco thing, And mind the words thai you and I Rpnk', Down in the meadow, at the well spring,"

he is speaking in a foreign tongue, though the story has been domesticated in the Lowlands of Scotland for many a long day, and is commonly told there still. The Scotch story has probably been found and polished by some one long ago, but when the frog comes " loup, louping," he is at home in Low Country Scotch, and these words are probably as old as the story and the language.

If Motherwell's beautiful nursery songs were to be collected from oral recitation anywhere, they would prove themselves Scotch by this test : The watch-dog eays, "wouff, wouff;" the hen is "chuckle;" the

IxviÜ INTRODUCTION.

chickens, "wheetle, wheoties;" tho cock is " cockie- leerie-law;" the pigeon, " croodle-doo ; " the cow says, " moo." And so also the wood-pigeon who said, " take two sheep, Taffy take two," spoke English ; but the blackcock, and cuckoo, and cock, in the Norse tales, who quarrelled about a cow, are easily known to bo foreigners when they speak English, for the original Norse alone gives their true note. The Gaelic stories, tried by this test, certainly belong to the language as they do to the people ; and now let us see if they can teach us anything about the people, their origin, and their habits, past and present

First, the manners are generally those of the clay. The tales are like the feasts of the pauper maniac, Emperor of tho world, who confided to his doctor that all his rich food tastud of oatmeal broso. Kings live in cottages, and sit on low stools. When they have coaches, they open the door themselves. The queen saddles the king's horse. The king goes to his own stable when he hears a noise there. Sportsmen use guns. The lin; is on the floor. Supernatural old women are found spinning ".beyond" it, in the warm place of honour, in all primitive dwellings, even in а Lapland tont. Tho king's mother puts on tho fire, and sloops in tho common room, ns a peasant does. Tim cock sleeps on the rafters, the shcop on tho floor, the bull beliind the door. A ladder is a pole, with pegs stuck through it. Horses put their noses "into" bridles. When all Ireland passes in review before the princess, they go in at the front door and out at tho back, as they would through a bothy ; and even that unexplained personage, tho daughter of the king of the skies, has maids who chatter to her as freely as maids do to Highland mistresses. When the prince is at death's door for love of the beautiful lady in tho

INTRODUCTION.

swan's down robe, and the queen mother is in despair, she goes to the kitchen to talk over the matter.

The tales represent the actual, every-day life of those who tell them, with great fidelity. They have done the same, in all likelihood, time out of mind, and that which is not true of the present is, in all probability, tny of the past ; and therefore something may be learned of forgotten ways of life.

If much is of home growth, if the fight with the dragon takes place at the end of a dark, quiet Highland loch, whore real whales actually blow and splash, there are landscapes which are not painted from nature, as she is scon in the Isles, and these may be real pictures seen long ago by our ancestors. Men ride for days through forests, though the men who tell of them live in small islands, where there are only drift trees and bog pine. There are traces of foreign or forgotten laws or customs. A man buys а wife as he would a cow, and acquires a right to shoot her, which is acknowledged as good law.

Сшваг tells of the Gauls, that " men have the power of life and death over their wives, as well as their children." It appears that an Icelandic betrothal woe little more than the purchase of a wife ; and in this the story may be a true picture of the past

Men are bound with the binding of the three smalls—waist, ankles, and wrists—tightened and tortured. The conqueror almost invariably asks the conquered what is hie " eirig," an old law term for the price of men's blood, which varied with the rank of the injured man ; and when the vanquished has revealed his riches, the victor takes his lite, and the spoil ; hie arms, combs, basins, drosses, horses, gold and silver, and such deeds may have been done. The tales which treat of the wars of Eirinn and Lochlaun,

lïX INTRODUCTION.

and arc full of metrical prose, descrita arms and boats, helmets, spears, shields, and other gear ; ships that are drawn on shore, as Icelandic sliips really were ; bouts and arms similar to those which are figured on old stones in lona and elsewhere, and are sometimes dug out of old graves and peat mosses. I believe them to be descriptions of real arms, and dresses, manners, and events.

For example, the warriors always abuse each other before they fight So do the heroes of Ossian; so do the heroes of Homer; so do soldiers now. In the Times of the 29th of December 1859, in a letter from the camp at Ceuta is this passage :—

" While fighting, even when only exchanging long shots, the Moors keep up a most hideous howling and shrieking, vituperating their enemies in bad Spanish, and making the mountains resound with the often-repented epithet of " perroi" (doga.) To this the Spaniards condescend not to reply, except with bullets, although in the civil war it was no unusunl thing (o hear Curlist and Christina skirmishers abusing each other, and especially indulging in unhandeome reflections upon each others' Sovereign."

Again, the fights are single combats, in which individuals attack masses and conquer. So were the Homeric combats. What will 1ю the utory told in Africa by the grandson of the Moor hero described, when ho sits on his flat roof or in his central court in Tetuan, as I have done with one of the Jews now ruined ; he will surely tell of his ancestor's deeds, repeat the words in which Achmed abused the unbeliever, and toll how he shot some mystical number of them witli a single ball.

" Upon the whole they stood their ground very stoutly, and some of them gave proof of great courage, advancing singly along the ridge until they caught sight of the first Spaniards posted below it, when they discharged their espingardas and retreated."

INTRODUCTION.

" Stories" had begun in Morocco by the 9th of January 1860, .when the next letter appeared :—

" The Moore have been giving out fantastical Motorice of their victories over the Spaniards, of their having taken redoubts, which they might have held had they thought it worth while, and in which they would have captured guns if the Christians h»d not been en prudent as to remove them beforehand. These arc mero fables."

It may be so, but Moore eoem to have fought as wild, brave, undisciplined troops have always fought— as Homer's Greeks fought, ns Highlanders fought, and as Fionn and his heroes fought, according to tradition. Omit the magic of Maghoch Colgar, forget that Moors nrc dark men, and this might be an account of Diar- maid and Conan in the story, or of their descendants as they were described in 1745 by those who were opposed to them :—

" The Moors «re generally tall powerful men, of ferocious a*|>cct and great utility, and their mode of coming on, like so ninny howling savage«, is not calculated to encourage and give confidence to lad* who for thn first time find themselves in action. It seems nearly impossible to make them prisoners. In one encounter (most of these little actions arc made up of a number of small fight» between a few companies of Spaniards and detached bodies of the Moors, who seem to have no idea of attacking in battalion or otherwise* than irregularly), in which a number of Moors were killed, one of them was surrounded by four Cazadores, who came down upon him with fixed bayonets, shouting and signing to him not to fire, and that they would give him quarter. The Moor took no heed of their overtures, levelled bin long gun, and shot one of them, whereupon he was, of course, put to death by the others."

So, looking to facts now occurring, and to history, " traditional fictions" look very true, for battles are still a succession of single combats, in which both sides

ITTÏÎ INTRODUCTION.

abuse each other, and after which they boast War is rapine and cruel bloodshed, as described by old fishermen in Barra, and by the Times' correspondent at Tetuan ; and it is not altogether the chivalrous pastime .which poets have sung.

In another class of tales, told generally as plain narrative, and which seem to belong to savage times, a period appears to be shadowed out when iron weapons were scarce, and therefore magical ; perhaps before the wars of Eirinn and Lochlann began ; when combs were inventions sufficiently new and wonderful to be magical also ; when horses were sacred, birds soothsayers ; apples, oak trees, wells, and swine, sacred or magical In these the touch of the cold steel breaks all spells ; to relievo an enchanted prince it was but necessary to cut off his head ; the touch of the cold sword froze the marrow when the giant's heads leaped on again. So Hercules finished the Hydra with iron, though it was hot The white sword of light which shone so that the giant's red-haired servant used it as a torch when he went to draw water by night, was surely once a rare bright steel sword, when most swords were of bronze, as they were in early times, unless it is still older, and a mythological flash of lightning.

This CLAIUHEAMH GEAI, BOLUis in almost ¡ihviiys mentioned as the property of gianU, or of other su]>cr- naturul beings, and is one of the magic gifts for which men contend with them, and fight with each other ; and in this the Gaelic tradition agrees with other popular lore.

Fionn had a magic sword forged by a fairy smith, according to a story sent me from Islay, by Mr. Car- michael. Ring Arthur had a magic sword. The Manks hero, " Olave " of Norway, hod a sword with a Celtic name, " Macabuin," made by a smith who was surply

INTRODUCTION. budü

a Celt,—"Loan Maclibhuin," though he was "The dark Smith of Drontheim" in the story.* King Arthur and his sword belong to the Bretons and to many other languages, besides Welsh ; and the Bretons have a wild war song, " The wine of the Gauls, and the dance of the sword," which is given in Barzaz Breiz (1846). t

There is a magic sword in the Volsung tale, called " Gram," which was the gift of Odin ;{ and a famous sword in the Niebolungen lied ; and there are famous swords in many popular tales ; but an iron sword was a god long ago amongst the Scytliians.§ " An antique iron sword " was placed on a vast pile of brushwood as a temple in every district, at the seat of government, and served as the image of Mars. Sacrifices of cattle and of horses were mode to it, and " more victims were offered thus than to all the rest of their gods." Even men were sacrificed ; and it is said that the weapons found in Scythian tombs are usually of bronze, " but the sword at the great tomb at Kcrtch was of iron."

• Train's History of the lulo of Man, rol. 2, p. 177.

t Tb« Gaelic word for a sword prove» that English, French, Breton, and Gaelic hare mach in common—(Eng.) glare, (Fr.) glaire, (Breton) korol ar o' hlcze—dance of the sword, (Gaelic) claidheamh—pronounced, glair, the first letter being a soft " c," or hard " g," the word usually spelt, claymore. Languages said to be derired from Latin do not follow their model no closely as these words do one another—(Lat.) gladius, (Spanish) espada, (Italian) spada ; and the northern tongues seem to have preferred some original which resembles the English word, sword. If" ipada " belongs to the language from which all these are •opposed to hare started, these seem to have used it for a more peaceful iron weapon, a spade.

| Norse Tales, Introduction, 62.

9 At page 53 of Rawlinson's Herodotus, rol. 3, is the trans, lation of the pasaage in which toil worship is described. e

IXXÍV INTBODUOTJON.

It seems, then, that an iron sword really was once worshipped by a people with whom iron was rave. Iron is rare, while stone and bronze weapons ore common in British tombs, and the sword of these stories is a personage. It shines, it cries out—the lives of men are bound up in it In one story a fox changes himself into the sword of light, and the edge of the real sword being turned towards a wicked " muinie," turned all her spells back upon herself, and she fell a withered fagot.

And so this mystic sword may, perhaps, have been a god amongst the Celts, or the god of the people with . whom Celts contended somewhere on their long journey to the west It is a fiction now, but it may be founded on fact, and that fact probably was the first use of iron.

Amongst the stories described in the index to the Gaelic MSS. in Edinburgh is one in which the hero goes to Scythia and to Greece, and ends his adventures in Ireland. And in the " Chronicles of the Eri," 1822, by O'Connor, chief of the prostrated people of his nation," Irish is usually called " the Phoenician dialect of the Scythian language." On such questions I will not venture. Celts may or may not be Scythians, but as a collector of curiosities, I may fairly compare my museum with other curious things ; and the worship of the Scimitar, 2200 years ago, by a people who are classed with the Indo-European races, appears to have some bearing on all magic swords from the time of Herodotus down to the White Sword of Light of the West Highlands.

If iron weapons, to which supernatural virtues aro ascribed, acquired their virtue when iron was rare, and when its qualities were sufficiently new to excite wonder—then other things mode of iron should have

INTRODUCTION.

like virtues ascribed to them, and the magic should be transferred from the sword to other new inventions ; and such is the case.

In all popular tales of which I know anything, some mysterious virtue is attributed to iron ; and in many of thorn a gun is the weapon which breaks the spells. In the West it is the same.

A keeper told me that he was once called into a house by an old woman to cure her cow, which was " bewitched," and which was really sick. The ceremony was performed, according to tho directions of the old woman, with becoming gravity. The cow was led out, and the gun loaded, and then it was solemnly fired - off over the cow's back, and the cure was supposed to be complete.

In the story of the hunter, when the widow's son aims at the enchanted deer, he sees through the spell, only when he looks over tho sight, and while the gun is cocked, but when he has aimed three times, the spell is broken and tho Iiuly is freo.

So in a story (I think Irish) which I have read somewhere, a man shoots from his hip at a deer, which seems to be an old man whenever he looks over the sight He aims well, and when he comes up finds only the body of a very old man, which crumbles into duet, and is carried away by the wind, bit by bit, as he looks at it An iron weapon is one of the guards which the man takes into the fairy hill in tho story of the Smith, No. 28. A sharpshooter fires off his gun to frighten the troll in " the Old Dame and her Hen ;" the boy throws the steel from his tinder box over the magic hone, and tames him at once in the Princess on the (lines Hill* And so on throughout, iron is invested with magic power in popular tales and mythology ; the • None Talos, No«. 3 and 13.

INTRODUCTION.

last iron weapon invented, and the first, the gun and the sword, are alike magical ; a " bit of a rusty reaping hook" does equally good service, and an old horse shoe is as potent a spell against the powers of evil as any known ; for one will be found on most stable doors in England.

Now comes the question, Who were these powers of evil who cannot resist iron 1 These fairies who shoot atone arrows, and are of tlio foes to the human racot Is all this but a dim hazy, recollection of war between a people who had iron weapons and a race who had not Ï the race whose remains are found all over Europe ?

If these were wandering tribes they had leaders, if they were warlike they had weapons. There is a smith in the pantheon of many nations. Vulcan was a smith ; Thor wielded a hammer ; even Fionn had а hammer, which was heard in Lochlann when struck in Eirinn, according to the story found midway in Barra Fionn may have borrowed his hammer from Thor long ago, or both may have got theirs from Vulcan, or all three may have brought hammers with them from the land where some primeval smith wielded the first sledge hammer, but may not all these smith gods be the smiths who made iron weapons loi those who fought witli the skin-clad warriors who shot flint arrows, and who are now bogles, fairies, and demons Î

In any case, tales about smiths seem to belong to mythology, and to be common property. Thus tbo Norse smith, who cheated the evil one,* has an Irish equivalent in the Three Wishes, f and a Gaelic story, " The Soldier," ia of the same class, and has a Norse equivalent in the Lad and the Deil. There are many of the same class in Grimm ; and the same ideas pervade them all There is war between the smiths and - • Noree Tales, 16, 63. f Carleton. Dublin, 1846. P. 330.

INTRODUCTION. Ixxvii

soldiers, and the devil ; iron, and horses' hoofs, ham- men, swords, and guns come into play ; the fiend is a fool, and he has got the worst of the fight ; according to the people, at all events, ever since St. Dunstan took him by the nose with a pair of tongs. In all probability the fiend of popular tales is own brother to the Gruagach and Glashan, and was once a skin-clad savage, or the god of a savage race.

If this theory be correct, if these are dim recollections of savage times and savage people, then other magic gear, the property of giants, fairies, and bogles, should resemble things which are precious now amongst savage or half civilized tribes, or which really have been prized amongst the old inhabitants of these islands, or of other parts of the world ; and such is often the case.

The work of art which is most sought after in Gaelic tales, next to the white glave of light, is a pair of combs.

CIR MIN OÍR Aous OÍR OARBH AiROioD, a fine golden comb and a coarse comb of silver, are worth a deadly fight with the giants in many a story.

The enchanted prince, when he ceases to be a raven, is found as a yellow ringlctted beautiful man, with a golden comb in the one hand and a silver comb in the other. Mool a Chliobain invades the giant's house to steal the same things for the king. When the coarse comb is forgotten the king's coach falls as a withered faggot In another story which I have, it is said of a herd who had killed a giant and taken hie castle, " He went in and he opened the first room and there was not a thing in it. Ho opened another, and it was full of gold and silver and the treasures of the world. Then he opened a drawer, and he took a comb out of it, and when he would give a sweep with it on the one side of his head, a shower of gold would fall out of

INTRODUCTION.

that side ; and when he would give a sweep on the other side, a shower of silver would fall from that side. Then he opened another room, and it was full of every sort of food that a man might think there had ever been."

And so in many other instances the comb is a treasure for which men contend with giants. It is associated with gold, silver, dresses, arms, meat, and drink ; and it is magical

It is not so precious in other collections of popular tales, but the same idea is to be traced in them all. There is a water-spirit in Grimm which catches two children, and when they escape they throw behind them a brush, a comb, and a mirror, which replace the stone, the twig, and the bladder of water, which the Gaelic prince finds in the car of the filly, and throws behind him to arrest the giant who is in pursuit In the nix of the mill pond an old woman gives a golden comb to a lady, and she combs her black hair by the light of the moon at the edge of a pond, and the water-spirit shews the husband's head. So abo in Snow White the wicked queen combs the hair of the beautiful princess with a poisoned * oinb, and throws her into a deadly magic sleep. That princess is block, white, and red, like the giant in No. 2, and like the lady in Conul ; and like a lady in a Breton story ; and generally foreign stories in which comba are mentioned as magical, have equivalente in Gaelic. For example, the incidents in the French story of Prince Chérie, in which gifted children comb jewels from their hair, bear a general resemblance to many Gaelic and German stories. Now there is a reason for everything, though it is not always easy to find it out ; and the importance of the comb in those stories may have a reason also.

In the first place, though every civilized man and

INTRODUCTION.

woman now owns a comb, it is a work of art which necessarily implies the use of tools, and considerable mechanical skill A man who had nothing but a knife could hardly make a comb ; and a savage with flint weapons wonld have to do without. A man with a comb, then, implies a man who has made some progress in civilization ; and a man without a comb, a savage, who, if he had learned its use, might well covet such a possession. If a block-haired savage, living in the cold north, were to comb his hair on a frosty night, it is to be presumed that the same thing would happen which now takes place when fair ladies or civilized men comb their hair. Crackling sparks of electricity were surely produced when men first combed their hair with a bone comb ; and it seems to need but a little fancy and a long time to change the bright sparks into brilliant jewels, or glittering gold and silver and bright stars, and to invest the rare and costly thing which produced such marvels with magic power.

There is evidence throughout all popular tales that combs were needed. Translations are vague, because translators are bashful ; but those who have travelled amongst half civilized people, understand what is meant when the knight lays his head on the lady's knee, and she "dresses his hair." In German, Norse, Breton, and Gaelic, it is the sama

From the mention of the magic comb, then, it appears that these legends date from an early, rude period, for the time when combs were so highly prized, and so little used, is remote.

In Wilson's prehistoric " Annals of Scotland," page 424, is a drawing of an old bone comb of very rude workmanship, found in a burgh in Orkney, together with part of a deer's horn and a human skeleton ; another was found in a burgh in Caithness ; a third il

IXXX INTRODUCTION.

mentioned ; and I believe that such combs are commonly found in old British gravea

At page 554, another drawing is given of one of a pair of combs found in a grave in Orkney. The teeth of the comb were fastened between plates of bone, rivetted together with copper nails, and the comb was decorated with ornamental carvings. With these, brooches of a peculiar form were discovered Similar brooches are commonly found in Denmark I have seen many of them in museums at Bergen and Copenhagen ; and I own a pair which were found in an old grave in Isluy, together with an amber bead and some fragments of rusted iron.

A bronze comb is also mentioned at page 300, as having been found in Queen Mary's Mount, a groat cairn near the battlefield of Langsydo, which was pulled to piceos to build stone dykes, and which was found to contain rude arms, bones, rings of bituminous shale, and other things wliich are referred to very early prehistoric ages.

At page 500 Mr. Wilson mentions a great number of monuments in Scotland on which combs are represented, together with two-handed mirrors and symbols, for which deep explanations and hidden meanings have been sought and found. Combs, mirrors, and shears are also represented on early Roman tombs, and hidden meanings have been assigned to them ; but Mr. Wilson holds that these are but indications of the sex of the buried person. Joining all this together, and placing it beside the magic attributed to combs in these Highland stories, this view appears to be the most reasonable. The sword of the warrior is very commonly sculptured on the old gravestones in the Western Isles. It is often twisted into a cross, and woven with those endless knots wliich resemble certain eastern designs.

INTRODUCTION. Ixxxi

Strange nondescript animals are often figured about the sword, with tails which curl, and twist, and sprout into leaves, and weave themselves into patterns. Those again resemble illuminations in old Irish and Gaelic manuscripts, and when the most prized of the warrior's possessions is thus figured on his tomb, and is buried with him, it is but reasonable to suppose that the comb, which was so valued as to be buried with its owner, was figured on the monument for the same reason ; and that sword and comb were, in fact, very highly prized at some period by those who are buried in the tombs, as the stories now represent that they were by men and giants.

So here again the popular fictions seem to have a foundation of fact.

Another magical possession is the apple. It is mentioned more frequently in Gaelic tales than in any collection which I know, but the apple plays its part in Italian, German, and Norse also. When the hero wishes to pass from Islny to Ireland, ho pulls sixteen npplos and throws them into the sea, one by one, and he steps from one to the other. When the giant's daughter runs away with the king's son, she cute an apple into a mystical number of small bits, and each bit talks. When she kills the giant she puts an apple under the hoof of the magic filly and he dies, for his life is in the apple, and it is crushed. When the byre i is cleansed, it is so clean that a golden apple would run / from end to end and never raise a stain. There is a gruagacli who has a golden apple which is thrown at all comers, and unless they are able to catch it they die ; when it is caught and thrown back by the hero, Gruagach an Ubhail dies. There is a game called cluich an ubhail, the apple play, which seems to have been a deadly game, whatever it was. When the king's

INTRODUCTION.

daughter transports the soldier to the green island on the magic tablecloth, he finds magic apples which transform him, and others which cure liim, and by which he transforms the cruel princess and recovers his magic treasures. In German a cabbage does the same thing.

When the two eldest idle king's sons go out to herd the giant's cattle, they find an apple tree whose fruit moves up and down as they vainly strive to pluck it

And so on throughout, whenever an apple is mentioned in Gaelic stories, it has something marvellous about ii

So in German, in the Man of Iron, a princess throws a golden apple as a prize, which the hero catches throo times and carries oil' and wins.

In Snow Whito, where ^tho poisoned comb occurs, there is a poisoned magic apple also.

In the Old Griffin, the sick princess is cured by rosy-cheeked apples.

In the Giant with the Three Golden Hairs, one of the questions to bo solved is, why a tree which used to bear golden apples does not now bear leaves f and the next question is about a well.

So in the White Snuke, a servant who acquires the knowledge of the speech of birds by tasting a wliite snake, helps creatures in distress, gets their aid, and procures a golden apple from three ravens, which " flew over the sea even to the end of the world, whore stands the tree of life." When he had got the apple, he and the princess ate it and married, and lived happily ever after.

So in Wolfs collection, in the story of the Wonderful Hares, a golden apple is the gift for which the finder is to gain a princess ; and that apple grew on a

INTRODUCTION.

sort of tree of which there was but one in the whole world

In Norse it is the same ; the princess on the Glass Hill held three golden apples in her lap, and he who could ride up the hill and carry off the apples was to win the prize ; and the princess rolled them down to the hero, and they rolled into his shoe.

The good girl plucked the apples from the tree which spoke to her when she went down the well to the underground world ; but the ill-tempered step-sister thrashed down the fruit ; and when the time of trial came, the apple tree played its part and protected the good girl

So in French, a singing apple is one of the marvels which the Princess Belle Etoile, and her brothers and her cousin, bring from the end of the world, after all manner of adventures ; and in that story the comb, the stars and jewels in the hair, the talking soothsaying bird, the magic water, the horse, the wicked step-mother, and the dragon, all appear ; and there is a Gaelic version of that story. In abort, tliat French story agrees with Gaelic stories, and with a certain class of German tales ; and contains within itself much of the machinery and incident which is scattered elsewhere, in collections of tales gathered in modern times amongst the people of various countries.

So again in books of tales of older date, and in other languages, apples and marvels are associated.

In Straparola is an Italian story remarkably like the Gaelic Sea Maiden, and clearly the same in groundwork as Princess Belle Etoile. A lady, when she has lost her husband, goes off to the Atlantic Ocean with three golden npples ; and the mermaid who hod swallowed the husband, shews first his head, then his body to the waist, and then to the knees ; each time for a

Ixxxiv INTRODUCTION.

golden apple ; and the incidente of that story are all to bo found elsewhere, and most of them are in Gaelic.

So again, in the Arabian Nights, there is a long story, The Three Apples, which turns upon the stealing of one, which was a thing of great price, though it was not magical in the story.

So in classical times, an apple of discord was the prize of the fairest ; and the small beginning from which so much of all that is most famous in ancient lore takes its rise ; three golden apples were the prize of one of the labours of Hercules, and these grew in a garden which fable has placed far to the westwards, and learned commentators have placed in the Cape Verde Islands.

So then it appears that apples hare been mysterious and magical from the earliest of times ; that they were sought for in the west, and valued in the east ; and now when the popular tales of the far west are examined, apples are the most important of natural productions, and invested with the magic which belongs to that which is old and rare, and which may once have been sacred.

It is curious that the forbidden fruit is almost always mentioned in English as an apple ; and this notion prevails in Franco to such a degree, that when that mad play, La propriété c'est le vol, was acted in Paris in 1848, the first scene represented the Garden of Eden with a tree, and a board on which was written " il est défendu de manger de ces pommes."

And it is stated in grave histories that the Celtic priests held apples sacred ; so here again popular tales hold their own.

Again, supposing tales to be old traditions, something may be gleaned from them of the past. Horses,

INTRODUCTION. IZZXT

for example, muet once have been strange and rare, or sacred, amongst the Celts, as among other races.

The horses of the Vedas, which drewthe chariot of the sun, appear to have been confused with the sun- god of Indian mythology. Horses decided the fate of kingdoms in Persia, according to Herodotus. They were sacred when Phaeton drove the chariot of the sun. The Scandinavian gods had horses, according to the Edda. They are generally supernatural in Grimm's German stories, in Norse tales, in French, and in many other collections. They are wonderful in Breton talcs.

When the followers of Columbus first took horses to America, they struck terror into the Indians, and they and their riders were demigods ; because strange and terrible.

Horses were surely feared, or worshipped, or prized, by Celts, for places are named after them. Penmarch in Brittany, means horse-head or bill. Ardincaple in Scotland means the mare's height, and there are many other places with similar names.

In Gaelic talcs, horses are frequently mentioned, and more magic properties are attributed to them than __ elsewhere in popular lore.

In No. 1, horses play a very prominent part ; and in some versions of that tale, the heroine is a lady transformed into a grey mare. It is to be hoped, for the hero's sake,, that she did not prove herself the better horse when she resumed her human form.

In No. 3, there is a horse race. In No. 4, there are mythical horses ; and in an Irish version of that story, told me in August I860, by an Irish blind fiddler, on board the Lochgoilhead boat, horses again play their part, with hounds and hawks. In No. 14, there are horses ; in one version there is a magic "powney." In 22, a horso again appears, and gives

IXXXVÍ INTRODUCTION.

the foundation for the riddlo on which the story turns. In 40, a horno is one of tho prizes to bo gained. In 41, tho horse plays tho part of bluebeard. In 48, a horse is to be hanged as a thief. In 51, the hero assumes the form of a horse. In many other tales which I have in manuscript, men appear as horses, and reappear as men ; and horses are marvellous. In one talc, a man's son is sent to a warlock and becomes a horse, and all sorts of creatures besides. In another, a man gets a wishing grey filly from tho wind, in return for some meal which the wind had blown away ; and there is a whole series of tales which relate to water-horses, and which seem, more than all the rest, to shew the horse as a degraded god, and, as it would seem, a water-god, and a destroyer.

I had intended to group all these stories together, as an illustration of this part of the subject, but time and space are wanting. These shew that in the Isle of Man, and in tho Highlands of Scotland, people still firmly believe in the existence of a water-horse. In Sutherland and elsewhere, many believe that they have scon these fancied animals. I have been told of English sportsmen who went in pursuit of them, so circumstantial were tho accounts of those who believed that they had seen them. Tho witnesses are so numerous, and their testimony agrees so well, that there must be some old deeply-rooted Celtic belief which clothes every dark object with the dreaded form of the ЕАОП UISQE. The legends of the doings of the water kelpie all point to some river god reduced to be a fuath or bogle. The bay or grey horse grazes at tho lake-side, and when ho is mounted, rushes into the loch and devours his rider. His back lengthens to suit any number ; men's hands stick to his skin ; he is harnessed to a plough, and drags the team and the plough into

INTRODUCTION. IxxXVÜ

the loch, and tears the horses to bits ; he is killed, and nothing remains but a pool of water ; he falls in love with a lady, and when he appears as a man and lays his head on her knee to be dressed, the frightened lady finds him oat by the sand amongst his hair. " Tim Gainmheach ami." There is sand in it, she says, and when he sleeps she- makes her escape. He appears as an old woman, and is put to bed with a bevy of damsels in a mountain shealing, and he sucks the blood of all, save one, who escapes over a burn, which, water hone as he is, he dare not cross. In short, these tales oiid beliefs have led mo to think that tlio old Celts most have luul a destroying water-god, to whom the horse was sacred, or who had the form of a horse.

Unless there is some euch foundation for the stories, it is strange to find the romances of boatmen and fishermen inhabiting small islands, filled with incidents which seem rather to belong to a wandering, horse- riding tribe. But the tales of Norwegian sailors are ffimilar in this respect ; and the Celtic character has in fact much which savours of a tribe who are boatmen by compulsion, and would be horsemen if they could. Though the Western islanders are fearless boatmen, and brave a terrible sea in very frail boats, very few of them are in the royal navy, and there are not many who are professed sailors. On the other hand, they are bold huntsmen in the far north of America. I do not think that they are successful farmers anywhere, though they cling fondly to a spot of land, but they are famous herdsmen at home and abroad. On the misty billa of old Scotland or the dry plains of Australia, they still retain the qualities which made a race of hunters, and warriors, and herdsmen, such as are represented in the poems of Ossian, and described in history, and even within the small bounds which now contain the

huucviii гатаопиопок.

Celtic race in Europe, their national tastes appear in strong relief. Every deerstalker will bear witness to the eagerness of Highlanders in pursuit of their old favourite game, the dun deer; the mountaineer shews what he is when his eye kindles and his nostril dilates at the sight of a noble stag ; when the gillie forgets his master in his keenness, and the southern lags behind ; when it is " bellows to mend," and London dinners are remembered with regret. Tyree is famous for its breed of ponies : it is a common bit of Highland " chaff" to neigh at a Tyree man, and other islands have famous breeds also It is said that men almost starving rode to ask for meal in a certain place, and would not sell their ponies ; and though this is surely a fiction, it rests on the fact that the islanders are fond of horses. At fairs and markets all over the Highlands ponies abound. Nothing seems to amaze a Highlander more than to see any one walk who can afford to ride ; and he will chase a pony over a hill, and sit in misery on a packsaddle when he catches the beast, and endure discomfort, that he may ride in state along a level road for a short distance.

Irish Celts, who have more room for locomotion, cultivate their national taste for horse flesh in a higher degree. An Irish hunter is valued by many an English Nimrod ; all novels which purport to represent Irish character paint Irishmen as bold riders, and Irish peasants as men who take a keen interest in all that belongs to hunting and racing. There is not, so far as I know, a single novel founded on the adventures of an Irish or Highland sailor or farmer, though there are plenty of fictitious warriors and sportsmen in prose and in verse. There are endless novels about English sailors, and sportsmen, and farmers, and though novels ore fictions, they too rest on facts. The

INTHODUOTIOH. 1XXXÍX

Celts, and Saxons, and Normana, and Danes, and Romans, who help to form the English race, are • ' home on shore and afloat, whether their steeds are of flesh and blood, or, as the Gaelic poet says, of brine. The Celtic race are most at home amongst their cattle and on the hills, and I believe it to bo strictly in accordance with the Celtic character to find horses and chariots playing a part in their national traditions and poems of all ages.

I do not know enough of our Welsh cousins to be ahlo to speak of their tastos in this respect ; but I know that horse racing excites в keen interest in Brittany, though the French navy is chiefly manned by Breton and Norman sailors, and Breton ballade and old Welsh romances are full of equestrian adventures. And all this supports the theory that Celts came from the east, and came overland ; for horses would be prized by a wandering race.

So hounds would be prized by the race of hunters who chased the Caledonian boars as well as the stags ; and hero again tradition is in accordance with probability, and supported by other testimony. In No. 4 there are mystical dogs ; a hound, GADHAR is one of the links in No. 8 ; a dog appears in No. 11 ; a dog, who U an enchanted man, in No. 12 ; there is a phantom dog in No. 23 ; thnro was a " spectre hound in Man ;" and there are similar ghostly dogs in England, and in many European countries besides.

In 19, 20, 31, 38, and in a great many other tales which I have in manuscript, the hound plays an important part. Sometimes he befriends his master, at other times he appears to have something diabolical about him ; it seems as if his real honest nature had overcome a deeply-rooted prejudice, for there is much which savours of detestation as well as of strong afleo-

XC INTRODUCTION.

tion. Dog, or eon of the dog, is a term of abuse in " lelic as elsewhere, though cuiloin is a term of endearment, and the hound is figured beside his master, or at his feet, on many a tombstone in the Western Isles. Hounds are mentioned in Gaelic poetry and in Gaelic tales, and in the earliest accounts of the Western Isles ; and one breed still survives in these long-legged, rough, wiry-haired stag-hounds, which Landscer so loves to paint

In one story, for which I have no room, but which is well worthy of preservation, a step-mother sends two step-children, a brother and sister, out into the world to seek their fortune. They live in a cottage with three bare yellow porkers, which belong to the sister. The brother sells one to a man for a dog with a green string, and so gets three dogs, whose names are Knowledge, Fios ; Swift, LUATH ; Weighty, Твои. The sister is enraged, and allies herself with a giant who has a hot coal in his mouth. Knowledge tells his master the dangers which await him : how the giant and his sister had set a venomous dart over the door. Swiftness runs in first, and saves his master at the expense of his own tail, and then the three dogs upset a caldron of boiling water over the giant, who is lud in a hole in the floor, and so at the third time the giant is killed, and the only loss is a bit of the tail of Luath.

Then the king's son goes to dwell with a beautiful lady ; and after a time ho goes back to visit his sister, armed with three magic apples. The sister sets three venomous porkers at him, and he, by throwing the apples behind him, hinders them with woods, and moors, and lakes, which grow up from the apples ; but they follow. The three dogs come out and beat the three pigs, and kill them, and then the king's son gets his sister to come with him, and she was as a servant-maid to

INTRODUCTION. XCÍ

the prince and the fine woman with whom he lived. Then the sister put GATH NIMH, a poisonous sting or thorn into the bed, and the prince was as though lie were dead for three days, and he was buried. But Knowledge told the other two dogs what to do, and they scraped up the prince, and took out the thorn ; and he came alire again and went home, and set on a fire of grey oak, and burned his sister. And John Crawfurd, fisherman at Lochlong-head, told John Dewar " that ho left the man, and the woman, and the doge all happy and well pleased together." This curious story seems to shew the hog and the dog as foes. Perhaps they were but the emblems of rival tribes ; perhaps they were sacred amongst rival races ; at all events, they were both important personages at some time or other, for there is a great deal about them in Gaelic lore.

The boar was the animal which Diarmid slew, and which caused his death when he paced his length against the bristles,—the venomous bristles pierced я mole in his foot. It was a boar which was sent out to find the body of the thief in that curious story, an gillie carrach ; and in a great many other stories, boars appear as animals of the chase. The Fiantoichean or Feen, whomsoever they were, are always represented as hunting wild boars, as tearing a boor to bite by main force, or eating a whole boar. Cairns, said to have been raised over boars, are shewn in many parte of Scotland still. I myself once found a bonr's tusk in a grave accidentally discovered, close to the bridge at Pool- Ewe. There were many other bones, and a rough flint, and a lot of charcoal, in what seemed to be a shallow human grave, a kind of stone coffin built up with loose ebbs.

"Little pigs" play their part in the nursery lore

JCCÜ INTRODUCTION.

of England. Everybody who has been young and has toes, must know how

" This little pig went to market, And tliia little pig staid at home— This little pig got roast beef, And thin little pig got none ; And this litllo pig went wee, wee, wee, nil the wny home."

There is a long and tragic story which has been currant amongst at least three generations of my own family regarding a lot of little pigs who had a wise mother, who told them where they were to build their houses, and how, so as to avoid the fox. Some uf the little pigs would not follow their mother's counsel, and built houses of loaves, and the fox got in and said, " I will gallop, and I'll trample, and I'll knock down your house," and ho ate the foolish, little, proud pigs ; but the youngest was a wise little pig, and, after many adventures, she put an end to the wicked fox when she was almost vanquished, bidding him look into the caldron to see if the dinner was ready, and then tilting him in headforemost In short, pigs are very important personages in the popular lore of Great Britain.

We are told by history that they . were sacred amongst the Qauls, and fed on acorns in the sacred oak groves of the Druids, and there is a strong prejudice now amongst Highlanders against eating pig's flesh.

So oak treea are mythical Whenever a man is to be burned for some evil deed, and men are always going to bo roasted, fagots of " grey," probably green oak, uro fetched. There is a curious story which tho Itev. Mr. MacLauchlan took down from tho recitation of an old man in Edinburgh, in which a niytliic.nl old man is shut up in an oak tree, which grows in the court of tho king's palace ; and when the king's son lets his ball

INTRODUCTION. XCÜÍ

roll into a split in the tree by chance, the old man telle the boy to fetch an axe and he will give him the ball, and so he gets out, and endows the Prince with power and valour. Ho sete out on his journey with a red-headed cook, who personates him, and he goes to lodge with a swine-herd ; but by the help of the old man of the great tree, BODACH NA OROIBHB MOIRE, he overcomes a boar, a bull, and a stallion, and marries the king's daughter, and the red-headed cook is burnt

So then, in these traditions, swine and oak trees are associated together with mythical old men and deeds of valour, such ne a raco of hunters might perform, mid admire, and remember. Is it too much to suppose that those are dim recollections of pagan times t DRUIDII in the name for a magician, DRAOCIID for magic. It is surely not too much to suppose that the magicians were the Druids, and the magic their mysteries ; that my peasant collectors are right, when they maintain that GRUAOACH, the long-haired one, was "a professor" or "master of arte," or "one that taught feats of arm* ;" that the learned Gruagach, who is so often mentioned, was a Druid in his glory, and the other, who in the days of Johnson, haunted the island of Troda as " Greogaco," who haunted the small island of Inch, near Easdale, in the girlhood of Mrs. Moctavish, who is remembered still, and is still supposed to haunt many a desolate island in the far west, is the phantom of the same Druid, fallen from his high estate, skulking from his pursuers, and really living on milk left for him by those whose priest he had once been.

" The "mull island of Inch, near Eaedale, is inhabited bj a brownie, which has followed the MacDongalls of Ardincaple for agei, and take« a great interest in them. He takes care of their cattle in that island night and day, unless the dairymaid, when there in summer with the milk cattle, ntglecU to leave warm

XCÍV INTRODUCTION.

milk for him at night ¡u a knocking-stonu in the cave, where she and .the herd lire during their stay in the island. Should this perquisite be for a night forgot, they will he sure in the morning to find one of the cattle fallen over the rocks with which the place «bounds. It is a question whether tho brownie has not a friend with whom he shares the contents of the stone, which will, I daresay, hold from two to three Scotch pints." Mrs. MacTavish, 1859, Isluy.

If tho manners and customs of druids aro described as correctly as modern manners really are, then something may be gathered concerning druidical worship, but without knowledge, which ч I have 110 time to acquire, the full bearing of traditions on such a subject cannot be estimated

The horse, and the boar, the oak tree, and the apple, then, aro often referred to. Of mistletoe I have found no trace, unless it be the sour herb wliich brings men to life, but that might be the "soma," which plays auch a part in the mythology of the Vedas, or the shamrock, which was sacred in Ireland.

Wells are indicated as mysterious in a great many tales—poison wells and healing wells—and some are still frequented with a half belief in their virtue ; but such wells now often have the name of some saint affixed to them.

Birds are very often referred to as soothsayers—in No. 39 especially ; the man catches a bird and says it is a diviner, and a gentleman buys it as such. It was a bird of prey, for it lit on a hide, and birds of prey are continually appearing as bringing aid to men, such as the raven, the hoodie, and the falcon. The little birds especially are frequently mentioned. I should therefore gather from the stories that the ancient Celts drew augury from birds as other nations did, und as it is asserted by historians that the Gauls really did. I should

INTRODUCTION. XCT

be inclined to think that they possessed the domestic fowl before they became acquainted with the country of the wild grouse, and that the cock may have been sacred, for he is a foe and a terror to uncanny beings, and the hero of many a story ; while the grouse and similar birds peculiar to this country are barely mentioned. The cat plays a considerable part, and appears as a transformed princess ; and the cat also may have been sacred to some power, for cats are the companions of Highland witches, and of hogs all the world over, and they were sacred to gods in other lands ; they were mode into mummies in Egypt, together with hawks and other creatures which appear in Highland tales. Ravens were Odin's messengers ; they may have been pages to some Celtic divinity also. Foxes, and otters, and wolves, and bears all appear in mythical characters. Serpente were probably held in abhorrence, as they have been by other races, but the serpent gave wisdom, and is very mythical.

Old Macdonald, travelling tinker, told me a long story, of which one scene represented an incantation more vividly to me than anything I have ever read or heard. " There was a king and a knight, as there was and will be, and as grows the fir tree, some of it crooked and some of it straight, and ho was a king of Eirinn," said the old tinker, and then came a wicked stepmother, who was incited to evil by a wicked hen- wife. The eon of the first queen was at school with twelve comrades, and they used to play at shinny every day with silver shinnies and a golden ball. The henwifo, for certain curious rewards, gave the etepdamo a magic shirt, and she sent it to her step son, " Sheen Billy," and persuaded him to put it on ; he refused at first, but complied at last, and the shirt was a DEITIIIR (great snake) about his neck. Then he was

XCVÍ INTRODUCTION.

enchanted and under spoils, and all manner of adventures followed ; but at last he came to the house of a wise woman who had a beautiful daughter, who fell in love with the enchanted prince, and said she must and would have him.

" It will cost thee much sorrow," said the mother.

" I care not," said the girl, " I must have him."

" It will cost thee thy hair."

" I care not"

" It will cost thee thy right breast"

" I care not if it should cost me my life," said the girl

And the old woman agreed to help her to her will. A caldron was prepared and filled with plants ; and the king's son was put into it stripped to the magic shirt, and the girl was stripped to the waist And the mother stood by with a great knife, which she gave to her daughter.

Then the king's son was put down in the caldron, and the great serpent, which appeared to bo a shirt about his neck, changed into its own form, and sprang on the girl and fastened on her ; and she cut away the hold, and the king's son was freed from the spells. Then they were married, and a golden breast was made for the lady. And then they went through more adventures, which I do not well remember, and which the old tinker's son vainly strove to repeat in August 1860, for he is far behind his father in the telling of old Highland talus.

The serpent, then, would seem to be an emblem of evil and wisdom in Celtic popular mythology.

There is something mysterious about rushes. The fairies are found in a bush of rushes ; the great caldron of the Fuou is hid under a bush of rushes ; and in a great many other instances том LUACHARACH appears.

INTRODUCTION. XCV11

I do not know that the plant is mentioned in foreign tales, but it occurs several times in border minstrelsy.

If the Druids worshipped the sun and moon, there is very little direct reference to such worship in high- laud stories now. There are many higldand customs which point to solar worship, but these have been treated of by abler pens, and Í have nothing to add on that head.

There is yet another animal which is mythical— tho water-bull, lie certainly belongs to Celtic mythology, as the water-horse does, for he is known in the Isle of Man and all over tho islands.

There are numerous lakes where water-bulls are supposed to exist, and their progeny are supposed to be easily known by their short ears. "VVhen the water-bull appears in a story he is generally represented as friendly to man. I have a great many accounts of him, and his name in Skye is Tiirbh Eithre. •

There is a gigantic water bird, called the Boobrie, which is supposed to inhabit the fresh water and sea lochs of Argyllshire. I have heard of him nowhere else ; but I have heard of him from several people.

Ни is ravenous and gigantic, gobbles up sheep and cows, has webbed feet, a very loud hoarse voice, and is somewhat like a cormorant He is reported to have terrified a minister out of his propriety, and it is therefore to be assumed that he is of the powers of evil. And there are a vast number of other fancied inhabitants of earth, air, and water, enough to form a volume of supernatural history, and all or any of these may have figured in Celtic mythology ; for it is hard to suppose that men living at opposite ends of Scotland, and peasants in the Isle of Man, should invent the samo fancies unless their ideas had some сошшои foundation.

XCVlll INTRODUCTION:

Besides these animals, there is a whole supernatural world with superhuman gigantic inhabitants.

There are continual fights with these giants, which are often carried on without arms at all—mere wrestling matches, which seem to have had certain rules. It is somewhere told of the Germans that they in their forests fought with clubs, and the Celtic giants may once have been real men. Hercules fought with a club. Irishmen use shillelahs still, and my west country friends, when they fight now-a-days, use barrel staves instead of swords, and use them well, if not wisely ; but whether giants were men or myths, they are always represented as strange lubberly beings, whose dealings with men invariably end in their discomfiture. There are giants in Herodotus and, I believe, in every popular mythology known. There are giants in Holy Writ They spoke an unknown tongue everywhere. They said " Fee fo fum" in Cornwall They say " Fiaw fiaw foaghrich" in Argyll, and these sounds may possibly bo corruptions of the language of real big burly savages, now magnified into giants.

The last word might be the vocative of the Gaelic for stranger, ill pronounced, and the intention may be to mimic the dialect of a foreigner speaking Gaelic.

An Italian organ-grinder once found his way to the west, and sang " Fideli, fidela, fidelin-lin-la." The boys caught the tune, and sang it to the words, " Deese creepe Signaveete ha," words with as much meaning as " Fee fo fum," but which retain a certain resemblance to the Italian sound.

If the giants were once real savages, they had the sense of smell peculiarly sharp, according to the Gaelic tales, as they had in all others which treat of them, and they ate their captives, as it is asserted that the early inhabitants of Scotland did, as Herodotus says that Scythe

INTRODUCTION. XC1X

did in his time, and ее the Feejeo islanders did very lately, and still do. A relative of mine once offered me a tooth as a relic of euch a feast ; it had been presented to him in tho Feejee Islands by a charming dark young lady, who had just left the banquet, but liad not shared in it. Tho Highland ginnte woro not so big but that their conquerors wore their clothes ; they were not so strong that men could not beat them, even by wrestling. They were not quite savages ; for though some lived in caves, others had houses and cattle, and hoards of spoil. They had slaves, as we are told that Scotch proprietors had within historic times. In "Scotland in tho Middle Ages," p. 141, we learn that Earl Waldov of Dunbar made over a whole tribe to the Abbot of Kelso in 1170, and in the next page it is implied that these slaves were mostly Celts. Perhaps those Celts who were not enslaved had their own mountain view of the matter, and looked down on the Gall as intrusive, savage, uncultivated, slave-owning giants.

Perhaps the mountain miste in like manner impeded the view of tho dwellers on tho mountain and tho plain, for Fin MacCoul woe a " God in Ireland," as they say, and is a " rawhead and bloody bones" in the Scottish lowlands now.

Whatever the giants were they knew some magic arts, but they were always beaten in the end by men.

The combats with them are a Gaelic proverb in action :—

" Theiil leoltacbd tlmr ipionnndh."

Skill goes over might, and probably, as it seems to me, giants are simply the nearest savage race at war with the race who tell the tales. If they performed impossible feats of strength, they did no more than Rob Koy, whose " putting stone" is now shewn to Saxon touriste

С INTRODUCTION.

by a Celtic coachman, near Banawe, in the shape of a boulder of many tons, though Hob Kuadh lived only а hundred years ago, near Inverary, in a cottage which is now standing, and which was lately inhabited by а shepherd.

•'• The Gaelic giants are very like those of Norse and German tales, but they are much nearer to real men than the giants of Germany and Scandinavia, and Greece and Home, who are almost, if not quite, equal to the gods. Famhairan are little more than very strong men, but some have only one eye like the Cyclops.

Their world is generally, but not always, under ground ; it has castles, and parks, and pasture, and all that is to be found above the earth. Gold, and silver, and copper, abound in the giant's land ; jewels aro seldom mentioned, but cattle, and horses, and spoil of dresses, and arms, and armour, combs, and basins, apples, shields, bows, spears, and horses, are all to be gained by a fight with the giants. Still, now and then a giant does some feat quite beyond the power of man ; such as a giant in Barro, who fished up a hero, boat and all, with his fishing-rod, from a rock, and throw him over his head, as little boys do " cuddies" from a pier-end. So the giants may be degraded gods after all.

But besides " popular tales," there are fairy tales, which are not told as stories, but facts. At all events, the creed is too recent to be lightly spoken of.

Men do believe in fairies, though they will not readily confess the fact And though I do not myself believe that fairies are, in spite of the strong evidence offered, I believe there once was a small race of people in these islands, who ore remembered as fairies, for the fairy belief is not confined to the Highlanders of Scotland. I have given a few of the toles which have come to me as illustrations in Ко. 27.

INTRODUCTION. Cl

" They" are always represented as living in green mounds. They pop up their heads when disturbed by people treading on their houses. They steal children. They seem to live on familiar terms with the people about them when they treat thorn well, to punish them when they ill treat them. If giants are magnified, these are but men seen through the other end of the telescope, and there are such people now. A Lapp is euch a manche is a little flesh-eating mortal—having control over the beasts, and living in a green mound— • when he is not living in a tent, or sleeping out of doors, wrapped in his deer-skin shirt. I have lived amongst them and know them and their dwellings pretty well. I know one which would answer to the description of a fairy mound exactly. It is on the most northern peninsula in Europe, to the east of the North Cape, close to the sea, in a sandy hollow near a burn. It is round—say, twelve feet in diameter—and it is sunk three feet in the sand ; the roof is made of «ticks and covered with turf. The whole structure, at a short distance, looks exactly like a conical green mound about four feet high. There was a famous crop of gross on it when I was there, and the children and dogs ran out at the door and up to the top when we approached, as ante run on an ant hill when disturbed. Their fire was in the middle of the floor, and the pot hung over it from the roof. I lately saw a house in south Uist found in the sand hills close to the sea. It was built of loose boulders, it was circular, and had recesses in the sides, it was covered when found, and it was full of sand ; when that was removed, stone querns and combs of bone were found, together with ishes, and near the level of the top there was a stratum of xines and teeth of large grass-eating animals. I know Dot what they were, but the bones were splintered and

CÜ INTKODUCTIOK.

broken, and mingled with ashes and shells, oysters, cockles, and wilks (periwinkles), shewing clearly the original level of the ground, and proving that this was a dwelling almost the same as a Lapp " Gam" at Hop- seidet.

Now, let us see what the people of the Hebrides say of the fairies. There was a woman benighted with a pair of calves, " and she went for shelter to a knoll, and she began driving the peg of "the tether into it. The hill opened, and she heard as though there were a pot hook ' gleegashing,' on the side of the pot. A woman put up her head, and as much as was above her waist, and said, ' What business hast thou to disturb this tulman, in which I make my dwelling. ' ' This might be a description of one of my Lapp friends, and probably is a description of such a dwelling as I saw in South Uist. If the people slept as Lapps sleep, with their feet to the fire, a woman outside might have driven a peg very near one of the sleepers, and she might have stood on a scat and poked her head out of the chimney.

The magic about the beasts is but the mist of antiquity ; and the fairy was probably a Pict. Who will say who the Pict may have been? Probably the great (.'libric hag woe one, and of the same tribe.

" In the early morning she was busy milking the hinds ; they were standing all about the door of the hut, till one of them ate a hank of blue worsted hanging from a nail in it." So says the " fiction," which it is considered a sin to relate. Let me place some facts from my own journal beside it

"Wednesday, August 22, 1850. Quickjok, Swedish Lapland.—In the evening the effect of the sunlight through the mist and showers was most beautiful. I was sketching, when a small man made his appearance

INTRODUCTION. ciii

on the opposite side of the river and began to shout for a boat The priest exclaimed that the Lapps had come down, and accordingly the diminutive human specimen waa fetched, and proved to be a Lapp who had established his camp about seven miles oil", near Vallespik. He was about twenty-five years old, and with his high blue cap on could stand upright under my arm."

I hod been wandering about Quickjok for a week, ouf on Yallespik frequently, searching for the Lapps, with the very glosa which I had previously used to find doer close to Clibric, which is but a small copy of the Lapland mountain.

"Thursday, 23d.—Started to see the doer, with the priest and the Clockar, and Marcus, and the Lapp. The Lapp walked like a deer himself, aided by a very long birch pole, which he took from its hiding place in a fir tree. I had hard work to keep up with him. Marcus and the priest were left behind. Once up through the forest, it was cutting cold, and we walked up to the ' cota' in two hours and a quarter. The deer were seen in the distance, like a brown speck on the shoulder of Vallespik ; and with the glass I could make out that a small mortal and two dogs were driving them home. The cota is a permanent one, made in the shape of a sugar loaf, with birch sticks, and long flat stones and turf. There are two exactly alike, and each has a door, a mere narrow slit, opening to the west, and a hole in the roof to let out the smoke. I crept in, and found a girl of about fifteen, with very pretty eyes, sitting crouched up in a corner, and looking as scared as one of her own fawns. The priest said, that if we had come without our attendant genius, the small Lapp, she would have fainted, or run away to the hills. I began to sketch her, as she sat looking modest in her dork corner, and was rejoicing in the

civ INTRODUCTION.

extreme stillness of my sitter, when, on looking up from some careful touch, I found that she had vanished through the door-way. I hod to bribe her with bread and butter before she could be coaxed back A tremendous row of shouting and barking outside now announced the arrival of the deer, so I let my sitter go, and off she ran as fast as she could. I followed more leisurely to the spot wliero the deer wore gathered, on a stony hillside. There were only about 200 ; the rest had run off up wind on the way from the mountains, and all the other Lapps were off after them, leaving only my pretty sitter, the boy, and a small woman with bleared eyes, as ugly as sin, his sister.

" How I wished for Landseer's pencil as I looked at that scene ! Most of the deer were huddled close together ; hinds and calves chewing the cud with the greatest placidity, but here and there some grand old fellows, with wide antlers, stood up against the sky line, looking magnificent I tried to draw, but it was hopeless ; so I sat down, and watched the proceedings of my hosts.

" First, each of the girls took a coil of rope from about her neck, and in a twinkling it was pitched over the horns of a hind. The noose was then slipped round the neck, and a couple of turne of rope round the nose, and then the wild milkmaid set her foot on the halter and proceeded то MILK тик HIND, into a round birch bowl, with a handle. Sometimes she sat, at others she leant her head on the deer's dark side, and knelt beside her. I never saw such a succession of beautiful groups.

" Every now and then some half-dozen deer would break out of the herd and set off to the mountain, and then came a general skurry. The small Lapp man, with his long birch pole, would rush screaming after

INTRODUCTION. CV

the stragglers ; and bis two gaunt, black, rough, half- starved dogs would scour oil', yelping, in pursuit. It generally ended in the hasty return of the truants, with well-bitten houghs for their pains ; but some fairly made off, at a determined long trot, and vanished over the 1 иII. It was very curious to bo thus in the midst of a whole herd of creatures so like our own wild deer, to have them treading on my feet and poking their horns against my sketch-book as I vainly tried to draw them, and to think that they who had the power to bid defiance to tlio fleetest hound in Sweden should be so perfectly tamo as to lot the small beings who herded them so thump, and bully, and tease them. The milking, in the meantime, had been progressing rapidly ; and after alxnit an hour the pretty girl, who had been dipping her fingers in the milk-pail and licking up the milk all the time, took her piece of bread and butter, and departed with her charge, munching as she went.

" The blear-eyed one, and the boy, and our party, went into the coto, and dined on cold roast reiper and reindeer milk. The boy poured the milk from a small keg, which contained the whole product of the flock ; and having given us our share, he carefully licked up all that remained on the outside of the keg, and set it down in a corner. It was sweet and delicious, like thick cream. Dinner over, we desired the Lapp to lie ready in the morning (to accompany me), and with the docker's dog, ' Gucppe,' went reipor-shooting. The docker himself, with a newly-slaughtered reindeer calf on his shoulders, followed ; and so we went home."

A few days afterwards, I was at another camp, on another hill, whore the same scene was going on. " In a tent I found a fine-looking Lapp woman sitting on a heap of skins, serving out coflee, and handing reindeer cream to the docker with a silver spoon. She Я

CVÏ . INTRODUCTION.

had silver bracelets, and a couple of silver rings ; and altogether, with her black hair, arid dark brown eyes glittering in the fire-light, she looked eastern and magnificent." Her husband had many trinkets, and they liad, amongst other articles, a comb, which the rest seemed much to need.

Her dress was blue, so were most of the dresses, and one of her possessions was a bone contrivance for weaving the bands which all wore round their ankles. .She must have hod blue yarn somewhere, for her garters were partly blue.

I spent the whole of the next day in the camp, and watched the whole operations of the day.

" After dinner, the children cracked the bones with stones and a knife, after they had polished the outside, and sucked up the marrow ; and then the dogs, which did not dare to steal, were called in their turn, and got the remains of the food in wooden bowls, set apart for their especial use."

The bones in the hut in South Uist might have been the remains of such a feast by their appearance.

" The cota was a pyramid of sods and birch sticks, alx>ut seven feet high, and twelve or fourteen in diameter. There were three children, five dogs, an old woman, Marcus, and myself, inside ; and all day long the handsome lady from the tont next door, with her husband, and a couple of quaint-looking old fellows in deerskin shirts, kept popping in to see how I got on. It was impossible to sit upright for the slope of the walls, ¡is I sat cross-legged on the ground."

This might bo a description of the Uist hut itself, and its inhabitants, as I can fancy them.

"The three dogs (in the tent), at the smallest symptom of a disturbance, plunged out, barking, to add to the row ; they popped in by the same

INTRODUCTION. CTÍÍ

way under the canvas, so they had no need of a door."

So did the dogs in the story of Seantraigh ; they ran after the stranger, and stopped to eat the bones. And it is remarkable that all civilized dogs fall upon and worry the half-savage black Lapp dogs, and bark at their masters whenever they descend from their mountains, as the town dogs did at the fairy dogs. In short, these extracts might be a fair description of the people, and the dwellings, and the food, and the dogs described as fairies, and the hag, and the tulman, in stories which I have grouped together ; told in Scotland within this year by persons who can have no know» fedgo of what is called the " Finn theory," and given in the very words in which they came to me, from various sources.

Lord lleay's forester must surely have passed the night in a Lapp cota ou Ben Clibric, in Sutherland, when Lapps were Picts ; but when was that ? Perhaps in the youth of the fairy of whom the following story was told by a Sutherland gamekeeper of my acquaintance.

THE HERDS OP GLEN ODIIAR.—A wild romantic glen in Strath Carrón is called Glen Garaig, and it was through this that a woman was passing carrying an infant wrapped in her plaid. Below the path, overhung with weeping birches, and nearly opposite, run a very deep ravine, known as Glen Odhar, the dun glen. The child, not yet a year old, and which had not spoken or attempted speech, suddenly addressed his mother thus :—

S lionmlmr bho mlmul Odhar, Mnny л dun hummel cow,

Le laogh nn ghoUil, With a calf below her,

Cbnnnaic raise gam bleoghan Have I seen milking

Anns a gliloan Odhar ud halla, In that dun glen yonder,

Gun chu gun duine, Without dog, without man,

Gun bbean gun gbillc, Without woman, without gillie.

CTiii INTRODUCTION.

Ach eon duine, But one man,

S'e liath. And lie hoary.

The good woman flung down the child and plaid and ran home, where, to her great joy, her haby boy lay smiling in its cradle.

Fairies then milked deer, as Lapps da ' They lived under ground, like them. They worked at trades, especially smith work and weaving. They had hammers and anvils, and excelled in their uso, but though good weavers, they had to steal wool and borrow looms. Lapps do work in metal on their own account ; they make their own skin dresses, but buy their summer clothes. A race of wanderers could not be weavers on a large scale, but they can and do weave small bands- very neatly on hand-looms ; and they alone make these. There are savages now in South Africa, who are smiths and miners, though they neither weave nor wear clothes. Fairies had hoards of treasure—so have Lapps. A man died shortly before one of my Tana trips, and the whole country side had been out searching for his buried wealth in vain. Some years ago the old silver shops of Bergen and Trondhjcm overflowed with queer cups and spoons, and rings, silver plates for waist belts, old plate that had been hidden amongst the mountains, black old silver coins that had not seen the light for years. I saw the plate and bought some, and was told that, in consequence of a religious movement, the Lapps had dug up and sold their hoards. Fairies are supposed to shoot flint arrows, and arrows of other kinds, at people now. Men have told me several times that they had been shot at : one man had found the flint arrow in an ash tree ; another hod heard it whiz past his ear ; a third had pulled a slender arrow from a friend's head. If that be so, my argument fails, and fairies ore not of

INTRODUCTION. CÍX

the past ; but Californian Indians now use arrow-heads which closely resemble those dug up in Scotland, in Denmark, and, I believe, all over Europe. Fairies are conquered by Christian symbols. They were probably Pagans, and, if so, they may have existed when Christianity was introduced. They steal men, women, and children, and keep them in their haunts. They are not the only slave owners in the world. They ore supernatural, and objects of a sort of respect and wonder: So are gipsies where they are rare, as in Sweden and Norway ; so are the Lapps themselves, for they are professed wizards. I have known a terrified Swedish lassie whip her horse and gallop away in her cart from a bond of gipsies, and I have had the advantage of living in the same house with a Lapp wizard at Quickjok, who had prophesied the arrival of many strangers, of whom I was one. Spaniards were gods amongst the Indians till they taught them to know better. Horses were supernatural when they came, and on the whole, as it appears, there is much more reason to believe that fairies wcro a real people, like the Lapps, who are still remembered, than that they ore " creatures of imagination" or "spirits in prison," or "fallen angels ;" and the evidence of their actual existence is very much more direct and substantial than that which has driven, and seems still to be driving, people to the very verge of insanity, if not beyond it, in the matter of those palpable-impalpable, visible-invisible spirits who rap double knocks upon dancing deal boards.

I am inclined to believe in the former existence of fairies in this sense, and if for no other reason, because all the nations of Europe have had some such belief, and they cannot all have invented the same fancy. The habitations of Highland fairies are green mounds, they therefore, like the giants, resemble the " under

CX INTRODUCTION.

jordiake " of the north, and they too may be degraded divinities.

It seems then, that Gaelic tales attribute supernatural qualities to things which are mentioned in popular tales elsewhere, and that Gaelic superstitions are common to other races ; and it seems worth inquiry whether there was anything in the known customs of Celtic tribes to make these things valuable, and whether tradition is supported by history.

In the first place, then, who are Celts now ? Who were their ancestors ! Who are their relations 2 and where have Gaelic tribes appeared in history 1

I believe that little is really known about the Gael ; and in particular, the origin of the West Highlanders lias been very keenly disputed. One thing is clear, they speak a language which is almost identical with the Irish of the north of Ireland, and they are the same people. Tim dialect of Irish, which varies most from Scotch Gaelic, is clearly but another form of the same tongue. Manks is another ; and these three are closely related to Welsh and Breton, though the difference is very much greater. Gaelic, Irish, and Manks vary from each other about as much as Norse, Swedish, and Danish. Welsh and Breton vary from the rest about as much as German and Dutch do from the Scandinavian languages. There are variations in Gaelic, and I believe there are in all the five surviving Celtic dialects, as there are in the languages of different counties in England, of every valley in Norway and Sweden, of every German district* and of every part of France, Spain, and Italy. But one who knows Gaelic well, con make himself understood throughout the Highlands, as freely as an Englishman can in England, though he may speak with a Northumbrian burr, or a west country twang, or like a true Cockney.

INTRODUCTION. CXÍ

These, then, form the Celtic clan, the people of the west of Scotland, the Irish, the Manks, the Welsh, and the Breton. Who their relations are, and who their ancestors, are questions not easily answered, though much has been-written on the subject Tim following is a brief outline of what is given as Celtic history by modern writers whose works I have consulted lately:—

According to Henri Martin, the French historian,* the whole of Central Europe, France, and Spain, were once overrun by a race calling themselves Gael, and best known as Gauls. This people is generally admitted to have boon of the samo stock as Germans, Latino, Greeks, and Slavonians, and to have started from Central Asia at some unknown epoch. They are supposed to have been warlike, to have been tatooed like modern New Zealanders, and painted like North American Indians, to have been armed with stone weapons like the South Sea Islanders and Californien Indians ; but shepherds, as well as hunters, and acquainted with the use of wheat and rye, which they are supposed to have brought with them from Asia. One great confederation of tribes of this race was known to ancient historians, as KiXro/. They were represented as fair and rosy-cheeked, large-chested, active, and brave, and they found the Euskes settled in the south of France, who were dark-complexioned, whose descendante are supposed to be the Euscualdonec or Basques of the Pyrennccs, and who are classed with the Lapps of the north of Europe, and with tribes now dwelling in the far north of Asia. I have seen faces in Barra very like faces which I had seen shortly before at St. Sebastian in Spain. A tribe of Gauls modo their way into Italy, and have left traces of their language there, in the names of mountain chains and great rivers. Those • Histoire de France, par Henri Martin ; 1865.

crû INTRODUCTION.

are named " Amhra," or " Ombres," and Amhra is translated Vulliuiit. This invasion is calculated to have taken place about 1500 ao.

Tim Gael were followed by Kimri or Cimbri, a kindred people of a darker complexion, speaking a kindred language, and their descendants are supposed to be the Welsh and Bretons. These in turn occupied the interior of eastern Europe, and were followed by the Scyths, and these, says the French historian, were Teutons.

According to the learned author of the essay on the Cimmerians, in the third volume of Rawlinson's Herodotus, p. 184, it is almost beyond doubt that а people known to their neighbours as Cimmerii, Gimiri, or probably Gomorini, attained a considerable power in Western Asia and Eastern Europe within the period indicated by the dates D.O. 000, GOO, or oven earlier.

These people are traced to the inhabitants of Wales, and Gael and Cymri are admitted by all to be KI\TU ; and still keep up their old character for pugnacity by quarrelling over their pedigrees.

Celts were undoubtedly the primitive inhabitants of Gaul, Belgium, and the British Islands, possibly also of Spain and Portugal ; but no word of the language spoken by these ancient Cimbri has been preserved by ancient authors, except the name, " and perhaps the name Cimmerii may have included many Celtic trilies not of the Cymric branch." These Gauls appeared everywhere in Europe ; and, in particular, they who had probably been driven out by the Scythians invaded Scythia, intermixed with the people, and formed the people known in history as Celto-Scythians; who the Scyths were (according to the author) appears to be uncertain. All that remains of their language is a list of words, picked out of the works of ancient

INTRODUCTION. СХШ

authors; and knowing what modern authors make of words which they pick up by ear, such a list is but a narrow foundation on which to build. Still on that list it has been decided that Scythe spoke a language which has affinity with Sanscrit, and in that list, as it seems to mo, thoro aro several words which resemble Gaelic more closely than the Sanscrit words given with them. And so, according to this theory, the Basques were found in Europe by the first Gael, and these were driven westwards by Kimri, and these again by Scythians, 'and these by Teutons, and all these still occupy their respective positions. The Basques and Lapps pushed aside ; the Gael in Scotland and Ireland, driven far to the westwards ; the Kimri driven westwards into Wales and Britanny ; the Scythe lost or absorbed ; and the Teutons occupying their old possessions, as Germans, Saxons, English, Scandinavians, and all their kindred tribes ; and of all these the Basques and their relatives alone speak a language which cannot be traced to a common unknown origin, from which Sanscrit also como.

Whatever then tlirowe light on the traditions of the first invaders of Europe is of interest to all the rest, for, according to this theory, they are all of the same clan. They are all branches of the same old stock which grew in Contra! Asia, and which has spread over great part of the world, and whatever is told of Uauls is of interest to all branches of Celts.

Rome was taken by Gauls about 390 n.c. ; Greece was invaded by Gauls about 279 B.c., and they are then described as armed with great swords and lances, and wearing golden collars, and fighting savagely. At the end of the third century B.C., according to the French historian, Gaul might have been a common name for the greatest part of Europe, for Gauls were everywhere.

INTRODUCTION.

Now, what manner of men were these Gauls, when men saw thorn who could describo them 1

All the Gauls kept their hair untouched by iron, and raised it like a mane towards the top of the head. As to the beard, some shaved it, others wore it of a moderate length. The chiefs and the nobles shaved the cheeks and the chin, and let their mustache grow to all their length. (Histoire de Prance, page 33.)

Their eyes were blue or sea-green, and shone under this thick moss of hair, of which the blond hue had been changed by lime-water to a flaming tint.

Their mustaches were " Rousses," which is the only word I know which will translate ruudh.

The warrior was armed with an enormous sabre on his left thigh ; he held two darts in his hand, or a long lance ; lie carried а four-cornered shield, painted of various brilliant colours, with bosses representing birds or wild animals ; and on his head was a helmet topped with eagles' wings, floating hair, or horns of wild animals j his clothes were particoloured, and he wore "brighis;" he was always fighting at homo or abroad; he was a curious inquiring mortal, always asking questions ; and truly he must have been a formidable savage that old French GauL Men's heads were nailed at the gates of his towns and his houses, beside trophies of the chase, much as modern Gael now hang up the trophies of their destructive skill, in the shape of pole-cats and crows.

The chiefs kept human heads embalmed and preserved, like archives of family prowess, as the Dyaks of Borneo and the New Zealanders still do, or did very lately. The father had the power of life and death over his wife and children, and exercised it too by burning the guilty wife ; and, though some chiefs had several wives, and there are some scandalous stories of the

INTRODUCTION. CIV

mannen and customs of the inhabitants of the islands ; •women were consulted together with men by the chiefs on matters of moment, and held a high place amongst the Gauls of France.

Now, this short description of the Gauls, rapidly gleaned from the pages of two modern books of high authority and great research, after my Gaelic stories were collected, agrees with the picture which the Gaelic tales give of their mythical heroes in many particulars. They have long beautiful yellow hair, Leadannch Buidh Boicheach. They are Kuadh Housses. They have large swords, claidheamh, sometimes duileagach, leaf-shaped. They cast spears and darts, Slcadli. They ore always asking questions, and their descendants have not lost the habit yet Their dwellings are surrounded by heads stuck on staves, stob. They have larders of dead enemies. When a man is described as ragged and out of order, it is almost always added that his beard had grown over his face ; and though boards aro coming into fashion now, it is not a highland fashion to wear a beard ; and many a stinging joke have I heard aimed at a bearded man by modern Highlanders. The shields of the warriors are Bucaid- each, bossed ; Baila Bhreachd, dotted and variegated ; liara chnol, with slender point ; " with many a picture to be seen on it, a lion, a cremhinach, and a deadly snake ; " and such shields are figured on the lona tombs. The ancient Gauls wore helmets which represented beasts. The enchanted king's sons, when they came home to their dwellings, put off cochal, the husk, and become men; and when they go out, they resume the cochal and become animals of various kinds. May this not mean that they put on their armour. They marry a plurality of wives in many stories. In short, the enchanted warriors are,

CXVÍ INTRODUCTION.

os I vorily boliove, nothing but real mon, and thoir munnors ronl manners, seen through a hozo of centuries, and seen in the same light as they are seen in other popular tales, but, mayhap, a trifle clearer, because the men who tell of them are the descendants of the men described, and have mixed less with other men.

I do not mean that the tales date from any particular period, but that traces of all periods may be found in them—that various actors have played the same parts time out of mind, and that their manners and customs are all mixed together, and truly, though confusedly, represented—that giants and fairies, and enchanted princes were men ; that Hob Roy may yet wear many heads in Australia, and bo a god or an ogre, according to taste—that tales are but garbled popular history, of a long journey through forests and wilds, inhabited by savages and wild beasts ; of events that occurred on the way from east to west, in the year of grace, once upon a time.

Tales certainly are historical in this sense when they treat of Eirinn and Lochlann, for the islands were the battlcneld of the Celts and Scandinavians, and though they lack the precision of more modern popular history, they are very precise as to Irish names find geography. "They wont to Cnoc Scannen in Ireland." Conall was called Gulbanach from Beinn Gulbain in Ireland. There is the " king of Newry," and many other places are named according to their Gaelic names, never as they are named in English. The same is true of the manuscript tales in the Advocates' Library. Places about Loch Awe are named, and the characters pass backwards and forwards between Ireland and Argyll, as we are told they really did when the Irish Celts invaded and possessed that part of the west of Scotland, and that invasion is clearly referred to in more than

INTRODUCTION. CXV11

one popular tradition still current. When ЬосЫалп is mentioned, it is further oil', and all is uncertain. The king's son, not the king himself, is usually the hero. Breacan Л/aclligh Loclilainn is named, or the son of the king of Lochlann, without a name at all, but the Irish kings often have a -whole pedigree ; thus, Connall Gulbanach Maclulin MacArt Mac some one else, king of Ireland, and I lately heard a long story about "Magnus."

This again is like distorted, undated popular history of true events. They are clearly seen at home, the very spot where the action took place is pointed to ; less clearly in Ireland, though people and places are named ; they are dimly seen in Lochlann, and beyond that everything is enlarged, and magical, and mysterious, and grotesque. Real events are distorted into fables and magnified into supernatural occurrences, for the Gaelic proverbs truly say, " There are long horns on cattle in mist" or " in Ireland," and " Far away fowls have fine feathers."

But whether the stories are history or mythology, it is quite clear that they are very old, that they belong to a class which is very widely spread, and that they were not made by living men.

All story-tellers agree in saying that they learned them as traditions long ago ; and if all those whose names are given had been inclined to tell " stories" in another sense, they could not have made and told the same stories at opposite ends of Scotland, almost simultaneously, to different people. James Wilson could not havo told Conall Cra^ bhuidhe to Hector MacLean in Islay, about the same time that Neil Gillies was telling Conai Crobhi to me at Inverary, and a very short time before Hector Urquhart got No. 8 from Kenneth MacLennan in Gairloch. An old fisherman and an old porter could not have combined to tell a " story".

CXViÜ INTRODUCTION.

which was in Straparola, in Italian, in 1507, to Hector MacLean in Barro, in 1859, and to the Kev. Mr. Muc- Lauchlan in Edinburgh, in 18CO, unless these stories were popular facts, though despised as fictions ; and they are curious facts too, for the frame of Conal is common to old German manuscripts, and some of the adventures are versions of those of Ulysses. There are many proverbs which are only explained when the story is known ; for example, " blackberries in February" means nothing ; but when explained by the story, the meaning is clearly the idea which an acquaintance of mine once embodied in a French toast, as " les impossibilités accomplies." The stories do not change rapidly, for I have gone back to a reciter after the lapse of a year, and I have heard him again repeat in Gaelic, what I had translated from his dictation, with hardly a change (vol. 1, p. 93).

I have now no doubt that the popular tales are very old ; that they are old "Allabanaich," Highlanders and wanderers ; that they have wandered, settled, and changed, with those who still tell them ; and call themselves " Albannaich," men whose wandering spirit is not yet extinct, though they were settled in their present abodes "before the memory of man."'

There was and is, a wandering spirit in tho whole race, if Celts are Indo-Europeans. In the people who delighted in the adventures of Ulysses and .Km-o-s, a longing spirit of western adventure, which was shewn in the fabled Atalantis, and the Island of the Seven Cities and St. Brandon—the spirit which drove the hordes of Asia to Europe, and urged Columbus to discover America, and which still survives in " the Green Isle of the great deep," " Euan uaine an iomal torra domhain," of which so much is told, which Highland fancy still sees on the far western horizon, and which,

INTRODUCTION. dix

as " FLATHINNI8," the Isle of Heroes, has now been raised from an earthly paradise to mean Heaven.

Much has been said about highland superstitions, and Highlanders of the east and west, like their southern neighbours, have many, but they are at least respectable from their age ; and because they are so widely spread over the world, I believe them to be nearly all fictions founded on facts.

Thirteen Highlanders would eat their potatoes together without fear, and one of them might spill the salt without a shudder. I never hoard of a Celtic peasant consulting his table as an oracle, or going to a clairvoyant; but plenty of them dream dreams and see visions, and believe in them as men in Bible history did of old.

A man had been lost in crossing the dangerous ford, five or six miles of sand and rock, between Ben- becula and North Uist, shortly before I was there in 1859. I was told the fact, and it was added incidentally, " And did he not come to his sister in a dream, and tell her where to find him ? and she went to the place, and got him there, half buried in sand, after the whole country side had been looking for him in vain." Here is a similar story from Manchester :—

" Fiii.ni.MF.NT OP л DREAM.—An inqucat wu held lut evening at Sheffield, before Mr. Thomu Badger, cnroner, on the body of Mr. Charlee Holme«, button manufacturer, Clough Hoimo Lane, who had been found drowned on Monday morning, in the Lead-mill dam in that town. The deceased left hii home on Saturday night in company with hii wife ; they walked through the town together, and about nine o'clock, at which time they went at the top of Union Street, he laid to her, 'I'm going to leare thee here, Fanny,' She laid, 'Are you f and he replied, ' Yet, I want to iee an old friend who ii going to Birmingham on Monday, and he ii to be here.' She laid to him, ' Well, Charlie, don't itop long, became I do feel queer about that dream,' and

CXX INTRODUCTION.

be replied, ' Oh, don't say that ; I'll just Imve a glass, and then come Lome. Qo and got tbe supper ready, and I'll come directly.' She then left him. When he got into the house ho was invited to drink with hie friend, but he exhibited some reluctance, saying that on the night before his wife had dreamed that she saw him dead in a public-house, and that she had dreamed a similar dream about a week before. Unfortunately, however, he yielded to the temptation, got drunk, and did not leave the public-house till after twelve. He was accompanied part of the way home by his friend, and was never afterwards seen alive. Near his house are the Lead-mill dams, and, in consequence of his not returning home, his wife felt convinced that he had fallen in and got drowned. A search was made, and on Monday morning his body was found in the water, and was removed to the Iloyal Standard public- house, where his wife saw the body, and identified it as that of her husband. The jury returned a verdict of ' Found drowned,' and recommended that an opening in the wall, near the dam, through which it is supposed he had füllen, should ho built up."— Manchater Examiner.

There are plenty of lowlandere as well as "ignorant" Highlanders who think that they are seers, without the aid of a deal hoard through which to look into futurity, by the help of a medium, and it is by no means uncommon, as I am told, for the Astronomer- Iloyal to receive English letters asking his ndvico, ex ojjleio,

It may not be out of place to add a word as to the spoken Gaelic of these talcs ; the mode of writing it ; and the English of the translation. First, then, it is admitted by all that the Gaelic of the West Highlands is a branch of the old Celtic stock, that is to say, the language of some of the oldest invaders or inhabitants of Europe of whom anything is known. Why it is I know not, but from works on philology it appears that the Highland dialect has been least studied, and for that reason, if for no other, it is perhaps best worth the trouble. I thought it best to ignore all that had been said or written on the subject, to go direct to

INTRODUCTION. cxxi

those who now speak the language, especially to those who speak no other tongue ; to men who use words as they use their feet and hands, utterly unconscious of design ; who talk as nature and their parents taught them ; and who are as innocent of philology as their own babies when they first learn to say " AbbL"

I requested those who wrote for me to take down the words as they were spoken, and to write as they would speak themselves ; and the Gaelic of the tales ie the result of such a process. The'names of the writers are given, and I am satisfied that they have done tlioir work faithfully and well Tho Gaelic then is not what is called " classical Gaelic." It is generally the Gaelic of the people—pure from the source.

Next, as to orthography. I chose one man, Mr Hector Mac Lean, whom I knew to be free from prejudice, and who knows the rules of Gaelic spelling, to correct the press, and I asked him to spell the sounds which he heard, according to the principles of Gaelic orthography, whenever he wrote anything down himself ; and in correcting the press for the work of others, to correct nothing but manifest mistakes, and this he has done, as it appears to me, very welL

In Gaelic there are certain vowels, and combinations of them, which represent certain sounds ; and they are all sounded, and always in the same manner, according to theory, but in practice it is a very different matter. In speaking Gaelic, as is the case in other languages, various modes of pronouncing the same vowels exist in various districts. The consonants meet and contend and extinguish each other, and change the sound of the vowels in Gaelic more than in any other language which I know ; but they fight by rule, and the conquered and the slain encumber the words which are their battlefields, as dead or dying consonants stand- A

INTRODUCTION.

ing beside the silent Л which kills or controls them. One difficulty in writing Gaelic from dictation is to ascertain, in words of doubtful meaning, whether the sound v is to be expressed by Ih or inh. The first letter was once at the head of a small regiment of letters, and sounded his own note m or b, and so he regulated the meaning of the rest, but having fallen in with on Л in an oblique case, and being changed thereby to v, the whole history of the word must be known before it can be settled whether it should begin with inli or I'll, and it is much more difficult in other cases, where the letter is silenced altogether. My mother, if Gaelic, might become vy vothei—father, other, but the sounds would be spelt mhother, fhather. The meaning in a book depends on the spelling, but in speaking, it is a different matter. There ore shades of sound which an ear used to a language can detect, but which letters are wholly unfitted to express.

Gaelic scholars, then, who have a standard for Gaelic writing, and who adhere to it strictly, will probably find much which will appear to them erroneous spelling.

An English scholar reading Sir Walter Scott's novels will find plenty of words which are not in Jolmson's Dictionary, and a student of Pickwick will find much in Sam Wollor's conversation which ho will not discover in that form in Shakspeare.

Had I found stories in the Isle of "Wight I should have spelt good morning good marnin, because it is so pronounced ; falbh is spelt folbh when a story comes from some of the Western Islands, because it is so pronounced there ; and for the same reason iad is spelt eud. I have no doubt there are errors. I can only vouch for having chosen men who did their best in a very difficult matter ; for I do not believe that there are ten men now living who would write a hundred

INTRODUCTION. CXxiii

lines of Gaelic off hand and spell them in the same •way. I very much doubt if ten men evor did live at the same time -who would have agreed as to Gaelic spelling ; and I know that I find forme of words in books which I have very rarely heard in conversation. For example, the plural in IIBH (in) is very rare, the common form is AN.

The spelling of the first book printed in the Gaelic language, Bishop Carswell's Prayer-book, 1567, is not the same as the spelling of the Gaelic Bible. The Gaelic пятое in old charters aro not spelt according to modern rulo. The old Gaelic manuscript« in the Advocates' Library are spelt in various ways. Every man who has written Gaelic for me, spoils words variously. Monks spelling is phonetic. Irish spelling is different ; and where there is so little authority, I hope to be forgiven if I have ventured to ask men to follow their own rood. I hope they will be forgiven if they have taken a short cut to gain a particular object, and if they have left the beaten path.

For the translation I am responsible, and I feel that the English needs excuse. It has been the fashion so far to translate Gaelic freely ; that is, to give the sense of the passage without caring much for the sense of words. One result is, that dictionaries give so many meanings that they are almost useless to any one ignorant of Gaelic. There are many words in these tales which were now to me, and I have repeatedly been driven to gather their meaning from the context, or to ask for it at the source, because of tho multitude of contradictory explanations given in dictionaries. Let me take one word as an example. In the first tale tho hero meets Си BKANO NA сопл, UAINB, and the meaning turned on tho word SEANO. To that word the following meanings are attached :—Slender,

CXX1V INTRODUCTION.

slender-waisted, hungry, hungry-looking, lank, lean, active, handsome, strong ; (applied to a shirt-front), fine ; " Sad am I this day arising the breast of my shirt is not seang ;" (applied to food in a proverb), meat makes men " seang ;" (applied to hinds in an ode), neat ; (applied to a horse), spirited ; also slim, small, small- bollied, gaunt, nimble, agile ; (applied to lady), slender- waisted. On looking further it appears that SEANQAN is an ant ; that SHUNKA is the Dakotah for all animals of the dog species, and that the word came to be applied to a horse, as spirit dog, when horses came first to that country ; and it further appears that there is a word in broad Scotch which nearly fits the Gaelic, SWANK; that SINO means a lion in India; and that the horses of the sun wore swankits with beautiful steps in Sanscrit. It soemod to mo that tho phrase might bo thus freely translated " The Forest Lion."

But though it seemed to me possible I might be entirely wrong, so I gave the meaning of the words, about which there could be no mistake :—

Cu BHANG NA OOILL' ил IN к. Dog slim of the wood green.

My belief is, that the word was an adjective, descriptive of the qualities of a lion wherever their likeness is to be found—as strength, activity, high courage, bold bearing, slender form, hunger, satiety ; but I did not venture to translate ou SEANQ by " lion," nor by " greyhound," as I was advised to do. I translated it by those words which seem to give the present meaning of the Gaelic. Си, a dog ; SBANO, slim ; and the phrase stands, " The slim dog of the green wood"

And so throughout I have aimed at giving tho pro- sent real meaning of every separate word, but so as to give its true meaning in the passage in which it occurs.

INTRODUCTION. 'CXXT

Where I have not been able to do both, I have tried to keep as close as I could to the original idea involved. For example, " In the mouth of night " is new to English, but it is comprehensible, and it is the exact meaning of the phrase commonly used to express the first coming on of darkness. The expression is poetical. It seems to refer to some old mythical notion that the eun went into a cave or a tent to sleep, for " Take thy sleep in thy cave " is a Une in Ossian's " Address to the Sun," and though it was suggested to me to alter this translation, and make it " good English," I thought it boat to adhere to my original plan. Generally where the phrase occurs it is translated " in the mouth of night," though I was advised to write, " in the dusk," " in the evening," " at nightfall," " in the mantle of night," "at twilight," " in the grey of the evening."

I admit that all these phrases express ideas which might be attached to the words ; but what could an unfortunate student make of a passage in which a word meaning mouth according to all dictionaries, should seem to moan mantle, or fall, or gmj. It is very much easier to write naturally and translate freely ; and ax I have tried hard to make my translation a close one, I hope the bad English will be forgiven.

Those only who have tried to turn Gaelic into English can understand the difficulty. There ore in fact many Gaelic phrases which will not go into English at all. For example, TUA во АОЛМ (I have this), »> thit at me, or with me, or by me, is a phrase which cannot be rendered for want of a word equivalent to АО or AIO, which expresses position and possession, and is combined with am, ad, e, inn, ibh, and changed to аса to express the persons. Gaelic will not bear literal translation into English, but I have tried to give the real meaning of every word as nearly as I could, and to

CXXVÍ .NTRODUCTION.

give it by using the English word which most resembled the Gaelic ; and thus I have unexpectedly fallen in with a number of English words which seem to have the same origin as Gaelic, if they are not survivors of the language of the ancient Britons. I have translated CLAIDH- EAMH, pronounced Claiv, by glave, TRAILL by thrall, and so throughout wherever I have thought of an English word that resembled a word admitted to be Gaelic.

It is my own opinion, and it is that of Mr. Mac- Lean, that the Gaelic language is the same from Cape Clear in Ireland to Cape Wrath in Scotland, though there are many dialects, and there is much variety. The language was taught to me by a native of Lorn, and ho was chosen by the advice of men well able to judge, as a native of the district where the best Gaelic was then supposed to be spoken. Speaking from my own experience, I can converse freely in Lorn Gaelic with Scotch Highlanders in every district of Scotland, and with natives of Eathlin. I can make my way with natives of the North of Ireland, but I cannot converse with the natives of some Irish districts. I could not make the Manksmen understand me, but I can readily understand most of the words in Manks and in Irish, when pronounced separately.

There are a very great many words in Welsh and in Breton which I can understand, or trace when they are separately spoken, but the difference in these is much wider. Feasante come from Connaught to Islay, and in a very short time converse freely, though their accent betrays them ; but an Argyllshire Highlander is known in the north by his accent, just os a York- shiroman would bo found out in Somersetshire. An Islay man is detected in Mull, and a native of one parish in Islay is detected when he speaks in another but though there are such shades of difference, a High-

INTRODUCTION. CXXVÜ

lander used to hear languages variously spoken should have no difficulty in understanding any dialect of Gaelic spoken in Scotland, and most of the Irish dialects. But which of all these is the best who is to decide 1 The author of a very good dictionary says, under the word сою, that "in the islands of Argyllshire every word is pronounced just as Adam spoke it" Dr. Johnson pronounced the whole to be the rude speech of a barbarous people ; and the Saxon knew as much of Gaelic as the Celt did of Adam. One Gaelic scholar wished to change the island words ; a good Highlander told me that 1 Jal- mally was the best place for Gaelic, another was all for Western Ross. Nobody has a good word for Sutherland Gaelic, but it is very pure nevertheless in some districts ; north country men are all for Inverness. I have heard excellent Gaelic in the Long Island. On the whole, I am inclined to think that dialect the best which resembles the largest number of others, and that is the dialect spoken by the most illiterate in the islands, and on the promontories farthest to the west. I will not venture to пяте any district, because I have no wish to contend with the natives of all the others.

The spirit of nationality is one which has a large development amongst my countrymen, and the subject of language brings it out in strong relief. It is but a phase of human nature, a result of the quality which phrenologists describe as combativcness, and it seems to be common to all the races classed as Indo-European.

It is a common opinion in England that one Englishman con thrash three Frenchmen ; and I have no loubt that a similar opinion prevails in France, though [ do not know the fact. Highlanders beb'eve that lowlondors generally are soft and effeminate ; low- landers think that mountaineers are savages. An Irish Celt detests his brother Celt over the water. A Scotch

cxxviii INTKODÜOTION.

Celt calls another Eireannach when he abuses him, but let a common foe appear and they will all combine.

England, Ireland, and Scotland are up in arms, with rifles on their shoulders, at a hint of the approach of а Frenchman j but they joined France with heart and hand to fight the Russian and the Chinese ; and as soon as the battle was over, they came back and fought at home.

The English lion stirred up tho Scotch lion in the English press, and the northern lion growled over his wrongs. Ireland began to tell of the tyrant Saxon, and a stranger might think that tho Union was about to fall to pieces. It is not so ; it is but a manifestation of superfluous energy which breaks out in the other " union " over the water, and makes as much noise there as steam blowing off elsewhere.

I maintain that there is chronic war in every part of her Majesty's dominions. Not long ago a dispute arose about a manner of catching herrings. One set of men caught them with drift-nets, another with dragnets, and one party declared that the other violated the law ; blood got up, and at lost a whole fleet of fisliing- boats loft their ground and sailed twenty miles down to attack the rival fleet in form. A gun-boat joined tho party, and peace was preserved ; but it was more the result of a calm, which enabled tho light row-boats to escape from the heavier sailing fleet Both parties spoke the same language, and on any subject but herrings, they would have backed each other through the world.

The purchase of an orange, and a box on the ear, grew into a serious riot in a northern town last year. The fight spread as from a centre, and lasted three days ; but here it developed itself into a fight between Celt and Saxon. . Both sides must have been in the wrong, and I am quite sure they were both ignominiously defeated, although they may hold the contrary.

INTRODUCTION. CXX1X

Every election in the three kingdoms- is a shameful riot, according to some public organ, whose party get the worst of it.

There is a regular stand-up fight in Paris periodically, the rest of Europe goes to war in earnest at every opportunity, and when there are no national or class wars, men fight as individuals all over the world. I was once at Christmas at a hurling match in Ireland. The game was played on ice on a lake, and after some hours the owner of the lake sent down a Scotch butler with bread and cheese and whisky for the players. Tltey gathered about the cart in perfect good humour, when suddenly, without cause, an excited banker's

clerk shouted, " Hurroo for " (the nearest post town),

and performed a kind of war dance on the outside edge of his skates, flourishing a stick wildly, and chanting his war song, " I' 11 bet ere a man in England, Ireland, or SCOTLAND." A knobby stick rose up in the crowd, and the Scotch butler was down ; but an Irish boy who had not opened his mouth was the next Пе went head-foremost into a willow bush amongst the snow, and three men in frieze great-coots kicked him with nailed shoes. In ten minutes the storm was over, the butler was up again in his cart dispensing the refreshments, the man in the bush was consoling himself with n dram, and all was peace. But that night the country party took up a position behind a stone wall, and when the others came, they sallied forth, and there was a battle-royal

So I have seen a parish shinny match in the Highlands become so hot and furious, that the leaders were forced to get two pipers and march their troops out of the field in opposite directions, to prevent a civil war of parishes.

And so, a part of her Majesty's guards having gone

CXXX INTRODUCTION.

out to exercise at Clewer, and being stationed as " the enemy " at some point, obstinately refused to " retreat in disorder ;." but .stood their ground with such determination, that the officers had to sound the retreat on both sides to prevent a serious battle.

So at Eton, shins were broken in my tutor's football match against my dame's ; and boys injured themselves in rowing frantically for the honour of upper or lower sixes.

Two twins, who were so like, that one used to skip round a pillar and answer to his brother's name, and who probably would have died for each other, still fought ai private so earnestly, that one carried the mark of a shovel on his forehead for many a long day ; and so boys fight, and men fight, individually and collectively, as parties, races, and nations, all over Europe, if not all over the world.

I decline to state my opinion as to which Gaelic is the best, for that is a peculiarly delicate subject, my countrymen having ceased to use their dirks, are apt to fight with pens, and I would rather see the children of the Gael, in this as in other matters, fighting shoulder to shoulder against foes, and working side by side with their friends.

The Gaelic language is essentially descriptive, rich in words, which by their sound alone express ideas. The thundering sound of the waves beating on the shore is well expressed by TONN, a wave ; LUNN, a heavy Atlantic swell

The harsh rattling and crushing of thunder by TAIB-

NEANAOB.

The plunge of a heavy body thrown into deep water by TÜNN, plunge.

The noise of small stones and fine gravel streaming seawards from a beach in the undertow is heard in SORITHEAN, gravel

INTRODUCTION. CXXXl

The tinkling of shells as they slip and slide on the sand at the edge of the eea is beard in SLIOEAN, shells.

The hard sharp knocking of stones in OLACH, a átono, und thonco all manner of compound ideas follow MS CLACIIAN, a village ; OLAOIIAIR, a mason ; OL ACHARAN, a stone chat

The names of domestic animals usually resemble their notes. Bo, a cow ; gobhar, a goat ; caora, a sheep ; laogh, a calf. Words such as barking, growling, squealing, coughing, sneezing, suggest the idea by the sound, as they do in English. Many names of beasts and birds, which are not of this class, are descriptive in another sense. The grouse are the reddish brown cock and hen ; the fox, the reddish brown dog ; the wolf, the fierce dog ; the sandpiper, the little driolichun of the strand. The crow is the flayer, the falcon, the darter ; the otter the brown or black beast.

It is a language full of metaphorical and descriptive expressions. " He went to the beginning of fortune ; " " ho put the world under his head ; " " he took his own body homo ;" "ho wont away"—that is, he wont homo sick, and ho died. " liiere were great masses of rain, and there was night and there was darkness." " Yo must not bo out amidst the night, she is dark."

It is rich in words expressive of war, by no means rich in words belonging to the arts. CRANN, a tree, means a mast, the bar of a door, a plough, and many other things made of wood. HKAIIIT means a loom, a block and tackling, and engines of various kinds.

It seems to contain words to express the great features of nature, which can be traced in the names of rivers and mountains in a great port of Europe, such as BAS, a rapid (pr. ace) ; АТП (pr. A. and Av.), a ford ; AMHAINN, ODHAlNN, ABHAINN, a river, variously pronounced, avain, a-toen, twain, o-t'n, o-un, o-n. Calais

CXXXÜ INTRODUCTION.

I take to be OALA, a harbour ; tbe word has no meaning in French. Boulogne might be BEUL OBHAINN, river's mouth ; Donau, the Danube, might mean the brown river. T.nrn might mean the shallow, and both are descriptive.

Rhine might mean the division, and there is a district in Islay whose name is pronounced exactly as the name of the great German river. Balaclava is exceedingly like the name of an Islay farm, and might mean kite's town, BAILB CHLAMHAIN ; but though such resemblances can hardly fail to occur to any one who knows the Gaelic language, it requires time and careful study to follow out such a subject, and it is foreign to my purpose. There are plenty of Gaelic words which closely resoluble words in other European languages. Amongst the few Sanscrit words which I have been able to glean from books, I find several which resemble Gaelic words of similar meaning—JWALA, light Hamo, has many Gaelic relations in words which mean shining, fire, lightning, the moon, white, swnn.

DYU, day, is like an diugh, to-day ; MIRAH, the ocean, like muir mará, the sea ; but this again is foreign to my purpose.

My wish has been simply to gather some specimens of tho wreck so plentifully strewn on the coasts of old Scotland, and to carry it where others may examine it ; rather to point out where curious objects worth some attention may bo found, than to gather a great heap. I have not sought for stranded forests. I havo not polished the rough sticks which I found ; I have but cut off a very few offending splinters, and I trust that some may be found who will not utterly despise such rubbish, or scorn the magic which peasants attribute to a fairy egg.

POSTSCEIPT.

September I860.

THE stories which follow page 266 of the first volume were intended for the second, but it has been found more convenient to place them in VoL I. Those which were to have been given as specimens of tales probably derived from the " Arabian Nights," have been left out to make room for others.

In August and September 1860 I again visited the Western Highlands, carrying with me nearly the whole of these two volumes in print I have repeatedly made the men who told the stories to my collectors repeat them to me, while I compared their words with the book. In two instances I have nuido mon repeat stories which I had myself written down in English from their Gaelic, and I have found no important variation in any instance. I find that the story is generally much longer as told, but that it is lengthened by dialogue, which has often little to do with the incidente, though sometimes worth preservation. I have now seen most of the men whose names are mentioned, and I have myself heard versions of nearly every story in the book repeated, either by those from whom they were got, or by people who live far from them,—for instance, John M tick i n non, stableman at Broadford, in Skye, told me in September a version of No. 18, which contains nearly all the incidents which I had before got from Islay, and several which were new to me.

CXXX1Y POSTSCRIPT.

Including those which are printed, I have moro than two hundred stories written down in Gaelic. I liavo about an equal number written in English from Gaelic, and I have heard a great many more, while Mr. Hector MacLean, Mr. Dewar, Mr. Carmichael, Mr. Torrie, Mr. Fraser, and others, aro still writing down for me, in the Long Island, in Argyllshire, and elsewhere.

If I have time and opportunity, I hope hereafter to arrange these materials ; to place the incidents in each story according to the majority of versions, and so strive to get the old form of the legends; for I am convinced that much is to be learned from this despised old rubbish, though it must be sifted before it can be turned to proper use.

In conclusion, I would tender my thanks once more to all those who have given mo their assistance. In particular, I wish to express my sense of obligation to the Rev. Thomas Maclauchlan, Free Church Gaelic minister in Edinburgh, who has contributed many stories, written down by himself from the dictation of one of his parishioners, and who has himself published a volume of Celtic gleanings.

I am also much indebted to the Rev. Mr. Beatson, minister of Barm, who aided Mr. MacLean in lus search for legends, and who shewed much kindness to myself ; and I have received assistance from other clergymen ol various persuasions, including the Rev. Thomas Patti- son in Islay. I am happy to have it in my power to mention such names ; for the strange idea possesses the people in many districts, that to repeat the most harmless sgeulachd is a grievous sin, and that fables, and poems, and novels of every sort ought to be put down and exterminated, because they are fictions. That spirit, if strong enough and put in action, would sweep away

POSTSCRIPT. CXXXV

mach of the literature of ancient and modern times ; and it seems strange to have to remonstrate against it now-a-days. Still, strange as it may seem, the spirit exists, and I am grateful for the support of enlightened liberal men. Surely the best treatment for " Superstition," if this bo superstition, is to drag it into light, the тегу worst to dignify it by persecution, and strive to hide ii

POPULAK TALES

THE WEST HIGHLANDS.

THE YOUNG KING OF EASA1DH RUADH.

From Jamen Wilson, blind fiddler, IsUj.

THE young king of Easaidh Humlli, after he got tlio hcirahip to himself, was at much merry making, looking out what would suit him, and what would come into his humour. There was a GRUAOACH near his dwelling, who was called Gruagach carsalach dorm— (The brown curly long-haired one.)

He thought to himself that he would go to play a game with him. He went to the Seanngal (soothsayer) and he said to him—" I am made up that I will go to game with the Gruagach carsalach donn." " Aha ! " said the Seonogal, " art thou such a man ? Art thou so insolent that thou art going to play a game against the Gruagach carsalach donn ? "Г were my advice to thee to change thy nature and not to go there." " I wont do that," said he. " T were my odvico to thoe, if thou shouldst win of the Gruagach carsalach donu, to в

2 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

got the cropped rough-skinned moid that is behind the door for the worth of thy gaming, and many a turn will he put off before them guttust her." He lay down that night, and if it was early that the day came, 'twas earlier than that that the king arose to hold gaming against the Gruagach. He reached the Gruagach, he blessed the Gruagach, and the Gruagach blessed him. Said the Gruagach to him, " Oh young king of Easaidh Ruadh, what brought thee to me to-day I Wilt thou game with me Í " They began and they played the game. The king won. " Lift the stake of thy gaming so that I may get (leave) to be moving." " The stake of my gaming is to give me the cropped rough-skinned girl thou hast behind the door." " Many a fair woman have I within besides hor," said tho Gruagach. " I will take none but that one." " blessing to theo and cursing to thy teacher of learning." They went to tho house of tho Gruagach, and the Gruagach set in order twenty young girls. " Lift now thy choice from amongst these." One was coming out after another, and every one that would come out she would say, " I am she ; art thou not silly that art not taking mo with thee t" But the Soanagal had asked him to take none but the last one that would come out When the last one came out, ho said, " This is mine." Ho went with her, and when they were a bit from tho house, her form altered, and she is tho loveliest woman that was on V earth. Tho king was going home full of joy at getting such a charming woman.

He reached the house, and he went to rest If it was early that the day arose, it was earlier than that that the king arose to go to game with tho Gruagach. " I must absolutely go to game against the Gruagach to-day," said he to his wife. " Oh 1 " said she, " that's my father, and if thou goest to game with him, take

THB TOUNQ KINO OF EA8A1DH RÜADIL 3

nothing for the stake of thy play but the dun shaggy / filly that has the stick saddle on her."

The king went to encounter the Gruagach, and surely the blessing of the two to each other was not beyond what it was before. " Yes I " said the Gruagach, "how did thy young bride please thee yesterday Î" " She pleased fully." " Hast thou come to game with me to-day ?" "I cama" They began at the gaming, and the king won from the Gruagach on that day. " Lift the stake of thy gaming, and be sharp about it." " The stake of my gaming is the dun shaggy filly on which is the stick saddle."

They went away together. They reached the dun shaggy filly. He took her out from the stable, and the king put his leg over her and she was the swift heroine ! He went home. His wife had her hands spread before him, and they were cheery together that night " I would rather myself," said his wife, " that thou shouldcst not go to game with the Gruagach any more, for if lie wins he will put trouble on thy head." ( „ " I won't do that," said ho, " I uill go to play with у him to-day."

He went to play with the Gruagach. When he arrived, he thought the Gruagach was seized with joy. " Hast thou come Î " he said. " I came." They played the game, and, as a cursed victory for the king, the Gruagach won that day. " Lift the stake of thy game," said the young king of Eosaidh Kuadh, " and bo not heavy on me, for I cannot stand to it" The stake of my play is," said he, " that I lay it as crosses and as spells on thee, and as the defect of the year, that the cropped rough-skinned creature, more uncouth and unworthy than thou thyself, should take thy head, and thy neck, and thy life's look off, if thou dost not get for me the GLAIVE or LIGHT of the king of the oak windows." The '

4 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

king went home, heavily, poorly, gloomily. The young queen came meeting Lim, and she said to him, " Moh- rooai ! my pity ! there is nothing with thee to-night" Her face and her splendour gave some pleasure to the king when he looked on her brow, but when he sat on a chair to draw her towards him, his heart was so heavy that the chair broke under him.

" What ails thee, or what should ail thee, that thou mighteet not tell it to muí" said the queen. The king told how it happened. " Ha ! " said she, "what should'st thou mind, and that thou hast the best wife in Erin, and the second best horse in Erin. If thou takest my advice, thou wilt come (well) out of all these things yet"

If it was early that the day came, it was earlier than that that the queen arose, and she set order in everything, for the king woe about to go on his journey. She set in order the dun shaggy filly, on which was the stick saddle, and though he saw it as wood, it was full of eparkhngs with gold and silver. He got on it ; the queen kissed him, and she wished him victory of battlefields. " I need not be telling thee anything. Take thou the advice of thine own she comrade, the filly, and she will tell thee what thou shouldest do." Ho set out on his journey, and it was not dreary to 1« on the dun steed.

She would catch the swift March wind that would lie before, and the swift March wind would not catch her. They came at the mouth of dusk and lateness, to the court and castle of the king of the oak windows.

Said the dun shaggy filly to him, " We are at the end of the journey, and we have not to go any further ; take my advice, and I will take thee where the sword of light of the king of the oak windows is, and if it comes with thee without scrape or creak, it is a good

TUR TOUNO KINO OF EA8AIDU BUADH. 5

mark on our journey. The king is now at his dinner, and the sword of light is in his own chamber. There is a knob on its end, and when tliou catchest the sword, draw it softly out of the window 'case.'" He came to the window where the sword was. He caught the sword and it came with him softly till it was at its point, and then it gave a sort of a " sgread." " We will now be going," said the filly. " It is no stopping time for us. I know the king has felt us taking the sword out" He kept his sword in his hand, and they went away, and when they were a bit forward, the filly said, " We will stop now, and look thou whom thou seest behind thee." " I sec," said he, "a swarm of brown hones coming madly." " Wo are swifter ourselves than these yet," said tho filly. They went, and when they were a good distance forward, " Look now," said she ; " whom soc« t thou coming t " " I see a swarm of black horses, and one white-faced black horse, and he is coming and coming in madness, and a man on him." " That is the best horse in Erin ; it is my brother, and ( he got three months more nursing than I, and he will come past me with a whirr, and try if thou wilt be so ready, that when he comes past me, thou wilt take the head off the man who is on him ; for in the time of passing he will look at thee, and there is no sword in his court will take off his head but the very sword that . is in thy hand." When this man was going past, he * gave his head a turn to look at him, he drew the sword and he took his head off, and the shaggy dun filly caught it in her mouth.

This was the king of the oak windows. " Leap L, on the black horse," said she, " and leave the carcass there, and be going home as fast as he will take thee home, and I will be coming as best I may after thee." He leaped on the black horse, and, " moire !"{he was the

6 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

swift horo,)and they reached tho house long before dny. The queen was without rest till he arrived. They raised music, and they hud down woe. On the morrow, lie said, " I am obliged to go to see the Gruogach to-day, to try if my spells will be loose." " Mind that it is not as usual the Gruagach will meet t lieu. He will meet thee furiously, wildly, and he will say to thee, didst thou get the sword Í and say thou that thou hast got it ; he will say, how didst thou get it ? and thou shall say, if it were not the knob that was on its end I liad not got il. He will ask thee again, how didst thou get the sword Î and thou wilt say, if it were not the knob that was on its end, I had not got it Then he will give himself a lift to look what knob is on the sword, and thou wilt see a mole on the right side of his neck, and stab tho point of tho sword in the mole ; and if thou dost not hit the mole, thou and I are done. His brother was the king of tho oak windows, and ho knows that till the other had lost his life, ho would not part with the sword. The death of the two is in the sword, but there is no other sword that will touch tlii-in but it" The queen kissed him, and she called on victory of battlefields (to bo) with him, and he went away.

The Gruagach met him in tho very same placo whore he was before. " Didst thou get the sword ? " " I got the sword." " How didst thou get the sword Г " If it were not the knob that was on its end I had not got it," euid ho. " Let me see the sword." " It was not laid on me to let thee see it" " How didst thou get tho sword t" " If it were not the knob that was on its end, I got it not" The Gruagach gave his head a lilt to look at the sword ; he saw the mole ; ho wus sharp and quick, and ho thrust the sword into tho mole, and the Gruagach fell down dead.

THE YOUNO KINO OF ЕА8АЮН RUADH. 7

He returned home, and when he returned home, he found his set of keepers and watchers tied there back to back, without wife, or horse, or sweetheart of his, but was taken away.

W ho u he loosed them, they said to him, " Л great giant came and he took away thy wife and thy two horses." " Sleep will not come on mine eyes nor rest on my head till I get my wife and my two horses back." In saying this, ho went on his journey. Ые took the side that the track of the horses was, and he followed them diligently. The dusk and lateness were coming on him, and no stop did he make till he reached the side of the green wood. He saw whore there was the forming of the site of a fire, and he thought that he would put fire upon it, and thus he would put tho night past there.

He was not long here at the fire, when " Си SEAKO" of the green wood came on him.

Ho blessed the dog, and the'dog blessed him.

" Oov ! oov I" said the dog. " I3ad was the plight of thy wife "and thy two horses here lost night with the big giant" " It is that which has set me so pained and pitiful on their track to-night ; but there is no help for it" "Oh I king," said the dog, " thou must not bo without meat" The dog went into the wood. He brought out creatures, and f they made them meat contentedly. \ " I rather think myself," said the king, " that I may turn home ; that I cannot go near that giant" "Don't do that," said tho dog. " There's no fear of thee, king. Thy matter will grow with thee, Thou must not be hero without sleeping." " Fear will not let me sleep without a warranty." "Sleep thou," said the dog, " and I will warrant thee." The king let himself down, stretched out at the side of the fire, and he alept When the watch broke, tho dog said to him,

WEST HIGHLAND TALKS.

" Rise up, king, till them gettest a morsel of meat that •will strengthen thee, till thou wilt be going on thy journey. Now," said the dog, " if hardship or difficulty comes on thee, ask my aid, and I will be with thee in an instant." They left a blessing with each other, and he went away. In the time of dusk and lateness, he came to a great precipice of rock, and there was the forming of the site of a fire.

He thought he would gather dry fuel, and that he would set on fire. He began to warm himself, and he was not long thus when the hoary, hawk of the grey rock came on him. " Oov I oov !" said ehe. " Bail was the plight of thy wife and thy two horses last night with the big giant" " There is no help for it," said ha " I have got much of their trouble and little of their benefit myself." "Catch courage," said she. "Thou wilt get something of their benefit yet. Thou must not be without meat here," said she. " There is no contrivance for getting meat," said he. " We will not bo long getting moat," said the falcon. She went, and she was not long when she came with three ducks and eight blackcocks in her mouth. They set their meat in order, and they took it " Thou must not be without sloop," said tho falcon. " How shall I sleep without a warranty over mo, to keep me from any one evil that is hero." " Sleep thou, king, and I will warrant thee." He let himself down, stretched out, and he slept

In the morning, the falcon set him on foot " Hardship or difficulty that comes on thee, mind, at any time, that thou wilt get my help." He went swiftly, sturdily. The night was coming, and the little birds of the forest of Brandling bushy trees, were taking about the briar roots and the twig tops ; and if they were, it was stillness, not peace for him, till he came to the side of

TUE YOUNG KINO OF EABAIDH RDADE. 9

a great river that was there, and at the bank of the river there was the forming of the site of a fire. The king blew a heavy, little spark of fire. He was not long here when there came as company for him the brown otter of the river. " Och I och I " said the otter. " Bad was the plight of thy wife and thy two horses last night with the giant" " There is no help for it. I got much of their trouble and little of their benefit" " Catch courage, before mid-day to-morrow thou wilt see thy wife. Oh ! king, thou must not be without meat," said the otter. " IIow is meat to be got here!" said the king. The otter went through the river, and she came and three salmon with her, that were splendid. They made meat, and they took it Said the otter to the king, " Thou must sleep." " How can I sleep without any warranty over me I " " Sleep thou, and I will warrant the«." The king slept In the morning, the otter said to him, " Thou wilt be this night in presence of thy wife." He left blessing with the otter. " Now," said the otter, " if difficulty be on thoc, ask my aid, and thou ehalt get it" The king went till he reached a rock, and he looked down into a chasm that was in the rock, and at the bottom he saw hie wife and his two horses, and he did not know how he should get where they were. He went round till he came to the foot of the rock, and there was a fine road for going in. He went in, and if he went it was then she began crying. " Ud I ud I " said he, " this is bad I If thou art crying now when I myself have got so much trouble coming about time." " Oo I " said the horses, " set him in front of us, and there is no fear for him, till we leave this." She made meat for him, and she set him to rights, and when they were a while together, she put him in front of the horses. When the giant came, he said, " The smell of the stranger is

IO WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

within." Says she, " My treasure ! My joy and my cattle ! there is nothing but the smell of the litter of the horses." At the end of a wliile he went to give meat to the horses, and the horses began at him, and they all but killed him, and he hardly crawled from them. " Dear thing," said she, " they are like to kill tliee." " If I myself hod my soul to keep, it's long since they had killed me," said he. " Where, dear, is thy soul ? by the books I will take care of it" "It is," said he, " in the Bonnach stone." When he went on the morrow, she set the Bonnach stone in order exceedingly. In the time of dusk and lateness, the giant came home. She set her man in front of the horses. The giant went to give the horses meat and they mangled him more and more. " What made thee set the Bonnach stone in order like that i " said he. " Because thy soul is in it" " I perceive that if thou didst know where my soul is, thou wouldst give it much respect." " I would give (that)," said she. " It is not there," said he, " my soul is ; it is in the threshold." She set in order the threshold finely on the morrow. When the giant returned, ho went to give meat to the horses, and the horses mangled him more and more. " What brought thee to set the threshold in order like that ? " " Because thy soul is in it" " I perceive if thou knewest where my soul is, that thou wouldst take care of it." " I would take that," said she. " It is not there that my soul is," said he. " There is a great flagstone under the threshold. There is a wether under the flog. There is a duck in the wether's belly, and an egg in the belly of the duck, and it is in the egg that my soul is." When the giant went away on the morrow's day, they raised the flagstone and out went the wether. " If I had the slim dog of the greenwood, he would not be long bringing the wether to

THE YOUNO KINO OP ЕЛ8ЛШП RUADII. 11

me." The slim dog of the greenwood came with the wether in hie mouth. When they opened the wether, out was the duck on the wing with the other ducks. " If I had the Hoary Hawk of the grey rock, she would not be long bringing the duck to inc." The Hoary Hawk of the grey rock came with the duck in her mouth ; when they split the duck to take the egg from her belly, out went the egg into the depth of the ocean. " If I had the brown otter of the river, he would not be long bringing the egg to me." The brown otter came and the egg in her mouth, and the queen caught '• tlio egg, and she crushed it between her two hands. The giant was coming in the lateness, and when she crushed the egg, ho fell down dead, and he has never yet moved out of that. They took with them a great deal of his gold and silver. They passed a cheery night with the brown otter of the river,'a night with • the hoary falcon of the grey rock, and a night with the slim dog of the greenwood. They came home and they set in order " a CUIRM CÜRAIDH CRIDHEIL," a hearty hero's feast, and they were lucky and well pleased after that *

Received June 9, 1869.

An old man, of the name of Angus MacQneen, who lired at Bnllocliroy, near Portaskaig, in Islay, " who could recite Oman's Гостя," taught this more than forty years ago (say 1820) to James Wilson, blind fiddler in Islay, who recited it to Hector MacLean, schoolmaster, Islay.

The Gaelic in dictated and written by Islay men.

WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

HIGH OG EASAIDH RÜAGH.

Hha righ og Easaidh Ruagh an deigh dlia'n olghreachd fhaotainn da fbm ri miirau ibhachd, og ambare a mach de a chordadh ris, 'a de thigeadh r 'a nadur. Bha gruagach fagus d'à chombnuidh ris an abradh iad a ghruagach charsalach dlionn. Smaointicb e ris fein gun rachadh e a dh' iomalrt cluiche ri«. Dh' f halbh e thon an t-sfonagh- ail, 'i thubbairt e ris, " tba mi air a dheanadh sua« gun d'thaid mi dh' lomuirt cluiche ris a' gbruagach cbarsalacli dhunn." " Aha," arsa 'n scanagheal, "an duine mar so thu? am bheil thu cho uaibh- reach 's gu bbeil thu a' dot a dh' iomairt cluicbe ris a a' ghruagach cbarsalach dhonn ? B'e mo chomhairle dbuit do nadur atharrachadh 's gun dolann." " Cha dean mi sin." •'B'e mo chombairle dhuit ma bhuidhneas thu air a'ghruagach charaalach dhonn, on nighean rahaol charrach a tliu ciil an doruis fhaotainn air son brlgh do chluiche, '« cuiridh e ioma car dheth inu'in faigb thu i." Chaidu e laidhe 'n oidhche sin, 's ma 's moch a thainig an latha 's molche na sin a dh' èirich an righ a chumail cluiche ris a'gliruagaich. Rainig e a ghruagach. Bheannaich e do'n ghruagaich '« bheannaich a ghruagach da. Thuirt a ghruagach ris, " Л righ óg Kasaidh Ruagli, do thug a' m'ionnsuidh an diugh thu? an iomair thu cluicbe riuiu ','" Thbisich iad '9 dh' iomair iad an clniche. Bhùidhinn an rîgh. " Tog brigh do chluiche 's gu'm faighinn a bbi 'g imeachd." '"Se brlgh mo cliluiche thu thoirt domh na nigbin maoil carraich a th' agad air cul an doruis." " 'S iomad boireannach maiseoch a tli'agnmsa stigh a bharrachd urra." " Cha ghabh mi gin ach i siod." " Beannachd tlhuitse 's mollachd do d* oid-ionnsachaidh." Chaidh iad gu tlgh na gruagaich 's cbuir a' gbruagach an ordugh ficbeod nighean bg. " Tog a nis do roghainn asda sin." Blia te' 'tigliinn a mach an doigh té, 's a h-uile td 'thigeadh a mach, theireadh i, " is mis' i, 's amaideach thu nach 'eil 'g am thobhairtse leat ;" ach dh'iarr an seanutfhal air gun gin a ghabbail ach an té mu dheireadh a tliigeadh a mach. 'N uair a thainig an té mu dheireadh a mach thuirt e "во mo thè-sa." Dh' f holbh e leatha 's 'nuair a bha iad etatuinn o'n tigh dh'atbarraicb a cruth, ague 's i boireannach a b'aille 'bha air thalamh. Bha'n righ 'dol dachaidh Ian toil-inntinn leithid da bboireannach maiseach fhaotainn. Rainig e'n tigh. Chaidh e laidhe. Ma 's moch a tbainig an latha, is moiche na sin a dh'èirich an righ, 'clhrtl a db'ionmirt cluiche ris a ghruagaich. " Is èigin domh dol a dh'iomairt cluiche t'a a ghruagaich an diugh," ars' e r'u bbean. " 0," an' Lse, " sin m'athair 's ma thcid thu dh'iomairt cluiche ris, na gabh ni saín bith a'iraon brigh do chluiche ach an loth pheallagach odhar

lUGII 00 EA8AIDH RUA01I. I J

« tha 'n diollaid mliaid' urn. Dh' f holbh an rtgh, 's choinnich .1 ghruagach e, 'a gn cinnteach cha robh 'm beannachadh na bu taira na bha e roimhe alg an dithls r i chéíle. " Seadh," an' a ghrtuigach "demur a chord do bhean bg rint an dé?" "Chord go h-iomlan." "An <!' thainig thu dblomairt clulche nom an diugh?" « Tlihinig." Thiiisich lad air a' cbluiche, 's bhuidhinn an righ air a' ghroagaich an lathaain. "Togbrtghdochlukbe'sbleaUmhleli." "'Sebrtghmo chlniche gam fuigh ml an loth pheallagach odhar air a' bbeil an dfollaid mhaide." Dû' f holbh ¡ad, combla. Kainig lad an loth pheallagach odhar, thug e mach as an etabull i, 's choir an righ a chaa thairte, 'i b'e 'n cnraidb L Chaidh e dhachaidh ; bha lamban sgaoilt' alg a' bbean roimhe; 'a bba ¡ad gu ihnndach combla an oldhcha «in. " 1Г fhearr learn fMn," area 'bhean, "nach raehadh thu 'dhlomalrt clulche rla a* ghrnagach tulllidh, chionn ma bhuldh- neas e cuiridh e drnph ann ad chcann." " Cba dean ml sin ; thèld ml dhlomairt cluiche ris an diugh." Chaidh e dh'inmalrt cloiche lis a' ghruagaich. 'N uair a rainig e, tlmr leis gun do ghabh a ghraagachboch. " An d'thainig tha Г "Thainig." Dh'iomairlad an clulche, 's mar bhnaidh mhollachd do'n righ bbaidhinn a' ghruagach an latba sin. " Tog brigh do chluiche," агаа righ og Eas ruagh, " 'a na Ы trom orm, chionn cha-n urrainn mi seasamh ris." " S' e brigh nxi chloicbe-sa,* urn' eaan, " ga bheil mi 'cur mar chroisean, 'as mar gheaaan ort, 'us mar ihti<tnn na bliadhna, am beathach maol carrach is mithreubbaiche 's is mi-threonaicho na thu Win,a thoirt do chinn's do mhuincll 's do choimhead-beatha dhiot, mar am faigh tha dhomhsa claidheamh soluis righ nan uinneagan daraich." Chaidh an righ dachaiilh gn trom, bochd, dnibhthiamhasach. Thkinig a bhknrighina og na chomhdhall 's thabhairt i ris, " Mo tbrualghe I cha 'n eil ni '«am bith leat a nochd." Thug a h-aoidh agos a b-ailleachd rndeigin do thoilinntinn do'n righ nur a dh' amhairc e air agnüis; ach nor a shuldh e air cathair a tharrumn e d' a ionnsnidh thug e osann ар, la agoilt a chathair fodha. " !)*• th' ort, na bhiodh ort, nach f haodadli tha Innseadh dbomh*a7" пгя' a bhanrigh. Dh' innis an righ demur a thachalr. " t.bt," arV ise, " de ambail a chnireas thu air, '• gur ann agad a tha *bhean is f hekrr 'an Eirinn, 's an darra each is f bearr 'an Kirlnn. Bla ghabhas thu mo chomhairle-sa thlg tha äs gach ni dhiubh sin f hathaad." Ma 's moch a thainig an latha 's molche na sio a dh' cirich a bhknrighino, Is a choir i uidheam air gach ni chum gam bitheadh an righ 'del air a thorns. Chair i 'n ordagh an loth pheallagach. odhar, air an robh'n diollaid mhaide ; 's ged a cbitheadh eaan 'n a maid' i, bha 1 Ian dhealrach le or is alrgeid. Chaidh e air a main. Pbog a' bhanrigb e, 's ghuidh i buaidh larach leis. Cha ruig

l 4 WEST HIGHLAND TALK

mu* leu t ЬЫ 'g innaeadh ni um bith dhuit, gabh tbu«a comhairle do bbanachompanaich fein, an loth, '• mniiJU i duit dé '• dur dbuit « dbeanamh. Ghabh • mach air ж thunn ; '* cha bu rhianalach a bbi air main n» «tend odhar. Bbeinadh i air a* ghaoth loath Xlhairt a bhitheadh roimpe, '• cba bbeireadb a' ghaoth loath Mbàirt orra. Thîiinig iad am beol an alhaidh '• an anamokb gu cùirt aguí catbair rîgb nan uinneagan daraicb. Un' an loth pbeallagacb odhar ris, " Tha •inn aig ce» n n «r turuia, Vcba-n' eil againn ri dol na 's f haide, gabh thuaa mo chomhairle-sa '• bheir mi thu far am bheil claidbeamh soluis righ nan uiuneagan daraich, '« ma thitf e leat gun sgread guu sgrioch, 's combamdh maith air ar torus e. Tha 'n righ nia aig a dhinneir, '» tha *n claidheamh wluis 'n a ahebmbar fèin ; tba cnip air a che»nn, '» nor a bheirea* thu air a chlaidheamh tarruinn gu réidh mach a * CASK" na h-oinneig e." Tbainig e gus an uinneii; far an rubh an claidheamli. Bog e air a cblaidbeamh '» thainig e leu gu re'idh gu* an robb e aig a bhàrr, '« thug e копа sgread as an sin. '• Bithidh ainn a nis, arta 'n loth, aig iraeacbd. cba-n àm stad duinn e, tha nos agam gun do mbotliaich an ngb иЫшн! a toirt a clilaidheirob a mach. Gbldidh esan an claidheamh 'n a lainih 's dh' fholbh iad, 's 'n uair a Un iad treii air an aghaidh, lliuirt an lotli, " Stadaidb sinn a nis 's arahairddb thu со 'chi thu 'd dheigh." " Chi mi, an' esan, sgaoth dh' eachaibh donna 'lighinn air bbainidh." "'S loaithe sinn fein na iad sin fathasd." l>h' fhalbh iad 's 'n uair a bba iad astar mailh air an aghaidh, " amhairc a nis a»' ise со 'chi tha teachd." "Chi mi sgaoth dh' eacha dubha, agus aon each blar dubb, 'sea tlghinn air a chutbacb, 's doin* air a mbuin." "'Se tia an t-each is f hearr an Eirinn, 's e mo bhrathair a tb' ann, 's f buair e raidhe banallrachd a bharracbd ormsa, agus thig e seachad ormsa le areann, 's fench am bi tbu cho Upaidh 's 'nur a thig e seachad ormsa an d* tlioir thu 'n ceann de 'n f hear a tb' air a mhuin ; chioun an am dol scacbad amhaircidh e ortsa, 's i-lm-n 'eil claidheamh 'n a chuirt a bbeir an ceann deth, ach a 'cheart chlaidheamh a thu'd laiuib." 'N uair a bha 'm fear so 'dol machad thug e amh- adh air a cheann a dh' ambare air ; tharruinn esan an claidheamh 'us tli in; e 'n ceann deth, 's cheap an loth pheallagach 'n a beul e. B' e so righ nan uinneagaii daraii-b. " Leum oír iiiuiii an eich dhuibh," urs' ist, "'s fbg a cblosach an siod, 's bl 'dol dacboidb cbo luaili 's u bhelr • dachaidh thu, 's bithidb mise 'tlghinn mar is f hearr a dh' f baodaa ml 'n 'ur díigli." Leum e air muin an eich dliuihh, 's am Molr« b'e 'ncurgidhe, 's i hinig iad an tigh fada roimh lui ha. Bha liban-rlgh gun laidhe gui an d' rainit; e. Thog iad cebl '» leag iad brón. An la'r na mhaireach thuirt esan, " 's e*igin dbmbu dol a dh'-

RICH OO EA8AIDH RUAOH. I 5

«rature na gruagaich an diugh, fench am Ы mo gheasan ma fgaoil." " Caimhnlch nach ann mar a b-abhaiat a dh' amaine» a ghrusgach ort. Coinnicliidh e tliu gu feargach fiadhaich '* their e r int, 'an il'f hualr thu 'n claidheamh ?' 'a abair thaaa gun d'f buair. Their e r ¡u t ciodemara fliunir thu e'? "us their thuu, ' mär b'e an cnapa bh'air a eheann cha d'fhuair mi e.' Foighnichidh e rithladdiot, Mcmur a fhuair thu 'n claidlienmli,' 's their thusa, 'mär b'e an cnap a bh' air a eheann cha d' fhuair ml e.' Bheir e 'n so togail air a dh' amhare ciod « 'n cnap a th' air a chlaidheamh 's clA tlm ball dorain taobh deas a mliuineil, agua stob bärr a chlaidheimh anns a bhall dorain 's mär amuis thu air a bhall dóralo, tha thnsa 's mué réidh. B' e 'bhralhair rtgh nan uinneagandaraiche,'s the fhios aige gus an caillcadh am fear eile'bheatha nach dealaichcadli eri« a chlaidheamh. Tha bas an dilhis 's a clilaidheamh ; ach clm-n 'eil claidlicnmh eile dheargas orr1 ach e." Phbg a bhanrigh e, 's ghuldh l buaidh larach Ici", 's dh' f holbli e. Tlmrlmir a phriiagach air anns cheart ait' an mlihemimliid. " An d' fbuair Um 'n claidheamh ?" "Fhnairmi'n claidheamh." " Demur a f huair thn *n clxidheamh ? " " Mur b'e an cnap a bh' air a cheann cha n' f haighinn e." " Leig f haicinn domh an claidbeamh." * Cha robh e mar fhischaibb orm a leigell fhaicinn doit." " Demur a fhnair thu 'n claidheamh ?" "Mur b'e an cnap a bh' air a cheann cha d' fhuair mi e." Thug a ghruagach togail air a cbeann a dh' amhare air a chlaidheamh. ühunnaic esan am ball dorain. Ulm e urrant' ealamh; shath e'n claiahenmh anns a bhall dorain, 's thuit a ghruagach rios marbh. Th i 11 e dhachaidh, 's 'n unir a thill e dhachaiilh,fbnair e luchd pleidhiilh agus coimhend ceangatlt' an sin cbl rl riil ; 's gun bhean, no each, no leannan aige, gun a bhi air an loirt air foll.li. 'N nair a dh' f huangail e iad, thubhain iad ris, "Thàioig famhair mor, agns thug e air folbh do bhean agua do dha each." * Cha d' thi'id cadal air mo shliil no fois air mo cheum, gns am faigb ml mo bhean aguí mo dha räch air an ais. Le so a radii dh' fholbh • air a thnn» ; ghabh e 'n tanbh a bha lorg nan each, 's lean e gu dian iad. Bha 'n t-athadh 's an t-anamoch a tigliinn air, 's cha d' rinneadh atad leis gus an d' rhinig e taobh na coill'naine. Chunnaic e fftr an robh U r ach rrutlinclindli gealbhain, 's smaointich e gun cnir- eadh e teln' air, 's gun cuirradh e seachad an oidhch' ann. Cha b' fhad 'a bha • 'n so aig a ghealbhan gus an d' thainig en seang na coiir nain'air. ßheannaichedo'nchu, 's bhrannaich an cil dà. "Ubh! hbb I " an'an cu, ** b' olc diol do mhnatha 's do dha each an so an raoir aig an f hamhair mhbr." <"S e sin a chuir mi»e rho neanasach tmagh air an loir a nocM, ach cha-n' 'eil arach' sir." " Л rigb," ars' an eb," cha-n' f haod ton bhi gun bhiidh." Chaidh an ch stigh do 'n

I 6 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

clioille, thug e mach beathaichean, 'i rinn Ud am biadh gu tlacbdmhor. " Thaduil agani fein," an' an righ, « gum faod mi tilleadh dhachaidh, nach urrainn mi dol a choir an f hamhair sin." " Na dean ein," ara' an cil ; " cha-n' eagal dnit a rtgh, cinn'idh do ghnothnch leat Cha-n Ч haod tha bbi so gun chadal." " Cha leig an t-eagal domb cadal '* gun bbarantaa orm." " Caidil thus'," an* an eu, " 'a barantachaidh mis' tliu." Leig an rtgh e féin па ehiueadh taobh an teine 'i chaidil e. Nor a bbrisd an Chaire thubhairt an eu ris, " Eirich," a r'njh, " 'us gun gabhadb thu greim bidb a neartaicheai thu, 'я gum bitbeadh thn dol air do thuma. Nia," an' an cu, " ma thig cmadbchas DO cas ort, iarr mo chuideachadh, '• bithidh mi agad a ttiiotadli." Dh' f hag iad beannachd aig a clidile 'a dh' f holbh e. An am an atbaidh 's an anmoich, tbiiinig e gu h-ailbbinn mhbr creige, agua bha crutbacbadh larach gealbhain ann. Smaointich e gun cruinneachadh e connadh, 'a gun с u ¡read h e air teine. Thouich e air a gharadh, 'a cha b* f bada bha e mar *o 'n uair a thiiiuig aeobhag liath ua creige glais' air. * Ubh I ulill I " an' Ise, " b' olc diol do mhnatha 'a do dbh each an rair aig an fhamhair mhbr." "Cha-n' 'eil aracli' air," an* ••an, " f huuir ml f<!iu mbran d' an dragh la beagau d' an hbhachd. "Qiao mlaneacu," an* iae, "gheobh thn rudeigin d' an abliuchd fhathaad. Cha n' fhaod thu bhi gun bhiadh an eu," are" ise. "Cha-n' 'ell «ebl air biadh fbaotainn an' eaan." "Cha-n fhada bbitheai ainn a faoUiun bidh." Dh' f holbh i '• cha b-f hada bha i n' uuir a thàinig i 'a tri lachan 'a ochd coilich dhnbha 'n a beuL Chuir iad an ordugh am biadh 'e ghabh iad e. " Cba-n fhaod thu bhi gun chadal, an' an t-teobbag." " Demur a chaidleaa mi gun bbarantaa 'tarn bith orm gu mo dliïon о aon olc a tha 'n во ?" " Caidil thuaa rtgh, '» barantachaidh mis' thu." Leig e e fein 'n a ehmeadh, 'a chaidil e. Anna a mhaidinn chuir an t-aeobhag air a chou e. Cruadhchai no caa a thig ort, cuimhnich aig am ваш bith gum fuigh tbu mo chuideachadbaa. Dh' f holbh e gu dian, foghainteach luath, laidir. Bha 'n latlia folbh 't an oidhche tighiun, '» eunluitb bheags na collie craobhaicb, dotraiche, dualaich, a' gabboll ma bhun nam preaa 's ma bharr nan doe; 'e mu bba, cha bu tàmh 'i cha bu chloa dhaan e, gua an d' thalnig e у u taobh aunhne mhbr a bba sin, agua ait; bruach na h-aimhne bha crutbuchadh lorach gealbbain. Sheid an r'igb uracliilanuch trum tcine. Cba b'-f hada bha e 'u «o 'n uair a thainlg ann an companai ris doran donn na h-aimhne. " Och," an' an doran, "b'-olcdk>l do mhnatha 'n ю an m:r aig an fbambair." " Cha-n 'eil arach' air, f hnalr mise mbran d' an dragh U bcugnn d' an abhachd." " Glao mitneoch, fo mheadhon latlia inuircuch chl thu da bheon. A rtgh, cha 'n fbaod thu bhi gun bhladb," an' an

HIGH 00 K ASA 1 DI I HU AGI I. 17

doran. "Demur a gheibhear biadh an so," an' in rtgh. Dh f holbh an doran feadh na h-abhann, '* thainig e 's tri bradain lets a bba ciatach. Rinn lad biadh ii gbabh lad c. Tnuirt ал doran ril in rtgh, "feumaidli ta cadal." "Demur a chaidleas mi 's gun bliarantachadh sam bith orm?" " Caidil thus* 's barantachaldh mis1 lim an noehd." Chaidil an rtgh. Anns a mhadninn, thuirt an doran ris, bithidh thu an nochd an Ikthair do mhnatha. Dh'fhag e beanntchd aig an doran. "Mis," ars' an doran, "ma bhitheas cas ort, iarr mo cbnideachadh-sa, 's gheobb thu e." Dh 'f holbh an righ gas an d' rainig e creag, 's dh' amhairc e sloe ann an glomhas a bha 's a chrdg, 's aig a ghrunnd chunnaic e a bhean agus a dh» each, 's cha robh flog aige demur a gheobheadh e far ян robh lad. Ghabh e ma 'n cuairt gns an d' thainig « gu bun na crcige, 's bha rallied ciatach • dhol a atigh. Chaidh e stigh, 's ma chaidh, 's ann a thbisich is' air caoineadh. " lid I ad Г ars' esan, " 's ole so, mi fein adh' f haotainn na h-uibhir de dhragh a tighinn ma d' thuaiream, ma 's ann a eaoin- eadh a tha thu nis." " U," arsa na h-eich, " cnir thus' air' ur beul- thaobh-ne e, 's clu-n eagal da gas am fag sinne so." Rinn i biadh da, 's chair 1 air doigh c, 's 'n uair a bba iad treis combla choir i air beulthaobh nan each e. 'N nair a thainig am famhair thublinirt «,

" THA BOLADR Alt FHARBHALAICH A RTIC1II. An' ÍSC, " M' ullnidh, ÍS

m'aigbear, is m' f heudail, cha-n' eil ann ach boladh abhaUidh bhreuna d« na h-oachalbh." An ceann trels chaidh e 'thoirt bïdh do na h.elch, 's thhisich na h-eich air, 's cha mlior nach do mharbh lad e, 's cha d' rinn e ach snagan air «flgin uatha. "Qhrhidh," ars' Ise, "tha ¡id a brath do mharbhadh." " Na'm b' ann agam fc"tn a bhitheadh m' anam g'a ghleidheadh '• f had' o'n a mharbh iad mi," ars' eaan. 14 СГ alt' a ghraidh am bheil d' anam an leobhra, gabhaidh mise cùram dtth." "Tha e," ars' eaan, "ann an clach nam bonnach." Nor a dh' f holbh esan an la'r na mbaireach, chair Ise an brdngh clach ват bonnach gu fuaUiasach. An am an atliaidh 's an anmoich thainig am famhair a stigh. Chuir i>e a frar air beulthaobh nan each. Chaidh am famhair a thoirt bWh do na h-eicb, 's leadair iad e na bu mhotha 's na bu mhotha. " Ciod e 'thug ort clach nam bonnach a char an brdugh mor »in?" ars' esan. "Chionn gu bheil d' anam innte." " Tha ml 'g aitbnrachadh nam bitheadh flos agad c' ait« 'bheil m' anam, gun d' tbugadh thu taire mhaith dha." " Bheir- eadh." " Cha-n ann an sin a tha m'anam 's ann a tha e 'sä sUirs- airli." Choir Ise an ordugh an stareach gu gasd' an la 'r na nilihir- eacb. Nor a thill am lamhair chaidh e thoirt bldh do na h-eich, 's leadair na h-eich e na bu inhntli» 's na bu mhotha. " Dé 'thug ort •o lUrsach a choir an ordugh mar sod ? " « Chionn gu bheil d' anam

18 WEST II ЮН LAND TAUES.

tante." " Tha mi 'g aithneachaJh na 'm bitheadh вое agad far am bbeil m* anam gun gabluulh thu curam clheth." " Ghabhadh," an* iff. "Chu-n' лап an tin a tha m' anam, an' esan. Tba leac mhör fo 'n stonaich, tha molt fu 'n leacbd, tha lach 'am broinn a mliuilt, agus tha ubb am broinn na lacha, agua 'a ann ann> an ubh a tba in' anam. 'N uair a dh' f bolbh am f.unhair an la'r na mhaireach thog iad an leac, 's a mach a thug am molt. Na 'm bitheadh agumsa cii eeang na coil Г uaine, cha b' f had 'a bhitheadh e 'tout a' inbuilt a m1 ¡onnsuidh. Thainig cu seang na coill* uaine ugue am molt 'n a bheul. 'N uair a dh'f hosgail iad am molt, a mach a bha 'n lach air iteagach leia na lachan eile. Na'm bitheadh agamaa aeobbag Hath na creige glaise, cha b' fhada' bhitheadh i 'toirt na lach a m' iomuuidh. Thainig seobhag Math na creige glaise '» an lach 'n a beul. 'N uair a agoilt lad an lach a thoirt na uibhe a 'broinn, mach a ghabh an t-ulili ann an doimhneacbd a cbuain. Na'm bitheadh »gams* doran donn na h-amhann, cha b'f bada bhitheadh i 'toirt a m' ionn- •uidh na uibhe. Tim in ¡ц an doran dünn 'a an t-ubh na beul, 'a rug a bhunrigli air an ubh 'a phronn i eadur a da laimh e. bba 'm fambair a lighinn mine an uthamanaclid, '• 'n uair a phroiui ieo 'n t-ubh limit e Ло» marbli, 'в cha do charaich e u а sin fhulhued. Thug lad muran leo de dh' ùr 'a de dh' airgeid. Chuir iad oidhche shuiinduch seachad aig doran donn na h-abliann, oidhch' aig seobhag liath na creige glaise, agua oidhch' aig eu leang na coill' uaine. Thainig iad dach- aidh 'a chuir lad an ordugh cuirm chriJlicil, 's bha iad gu sona, tuilichte 'n a dhéigh Bin.

2. I have another version of thii tale, written by Hector Urquhart, told by John Campbell, living at Strath Qairlocb, Uona-вЫге, received June 27, 1859- It is very well told. It varies a little from the lelay version, but the resemblance is go close, that to print it entire would be repetition. It contains many characteristic phrases wbicb the otber has oot got, во I givo this abstract. The Qaelic is ы it came to me.

Тнв " SOKULACHD " or THÏ WIDOW'S Вон.—There was once a widow's son, and he was often stalking (BEALG). On a day of days and he stalking, he " sits " at the back of a knoll, before the sun and behind the wind (in АОНЛШН OBKINE 's HI COL HA OAOITIIK), and there came the way a youth, like a picture (OOANACU UBALDIIANAOH), riding a blue filly (FAILOBB OORM), and he sits beside him. They played at cards, and the widow's son won, and when evening cume the youth said, " What is the stake of

THE ТОПКО KINO OP KA8AIDH RUADE. 19

thy gaming?" (CE DBR BDIDB DO снился*?) and he laid, "the blue filly nnder the«." He took her home, and the changed inte the fineit woman that man етег gaw. Next day he went »talking, and on coming home in the month of night (AM BEUL яд ОГОСПЕ), he learned that tlio big giant had taken away his sweetheart—СНА ИЕН. СОМЛ8 AIR AB BIBB ACH NA ВО МИШЕ ВО TREABA

CHA MHEALLADH EIBE FAD i. " There is no help for it," said he, " but were I the stronger, he would not allure her far."

Dn' BRICH MAC ЯА IUNHTRIOII. The widow's son arose, 's CRAIDB о ЯА cHBioeiBB lALi.A s' ЯА I.U.LA OAisoiCB, and he went into his belts of thongs and bis thongs of warrior, 'в ЛП'ГВАЬВН в I.B CEOMAXIBB on TUiSLEAO помп мнвАнмяАСВ, and he went with leaping strides, cheerful to me (or ? Doimhainntaeltd—of deepness) я' DBEARADB E MILBTIIORAK NA BLEIBH LEIB HA u DILLE свои A DBBAHADH в, and he would make a thousand knolls of the hill with every step he made, в' в' ГНГ.АН РВА HAMBAID A siiKACBAHADH BA TACHAiRT An LATEA siH RIB, and his foe had better aroid him than meet that day with him. Ho saw a little hat "in the mouth of night," and though far away, not long to reach

it, AlR A TBIIBHAIIII LE 1ТЕАОАЯ OARBHA NAN EUH A MU1OH В LE

ГГВАОАЯ MINE NAN BUN A STEACB, thatched with coarse fcnthers of the birds without, and with fine feathers of the birds within,

AODB ВГЛТПАО AB T UnilAI. В11ОЯ DABHA СЕАЯ DROH A CHIN BILE

и оно coMHRAD B'A BRA R, and the apple would run from ono end to the other end, so eren it was. He went in and found no man, but two great fires on the fire-place (CRAOAILT) on the floor. HUIL DA DOO E, glance that he gave he saw a falcon coming in with a heath hen in her claws, and the next glance it was, OILLE BEIAOR BOIDR, a braw yellow lad, who spoke as in the Islay rersion, entertained him and told him in the morning to call on SBABIIAO RUII. OBORM ORLERHA FEIST—the blue-eyed falcon of Glen Feist. Next day it was the name, and he came, AIR CIARADH DOB FHEISOAR, at the turning-dun of the evening, to a second hut, thatched like the other, s' BHA SHATIINBAH ВЕЛО BUABACH BIODA ruMAii. DIOR A »UROMA RIB, and there was a little sorry silken thread, keeping the thatch of its back on. DOBHRAH DORR, otter brown, came in with a salmon, and became a man, and spoke as the other, and toM him in the morning to call on DOBH- RAH вояя »HUTU AR т' SHiDL—Brown otter of sail stream. The

20 WEST HIGHLAND TALKS.

third day was the вате, the- hut was the вате, but that there were two groat fires on uacli firo-plnco, and tlioro camo in, MADADII uou, big dog, with a bare by the throat, who became the finest man, лш AH DUO E коек in л un, he ever turned face to ; who eaid as the other« did—" It was late when the big giaut went past with thy sweetheart on his shoulder." At parting, he told him to call on UADADH OLAS DKIOH AN T-BiiLEiBUE—grey dog of mountain back in time of need. That night ho saw, Tiou uou DEAL AH AM ÜLEANN FADA Г.ЧЯ1ГН, a big white house in a long desert glen, and saw his sweetheart with a golden comb in her hand, and ehe would take u while at combing her hair, and a while at weeping, and when she saw him she said—" My pity, what brought thce here? the giant will kill tb.ee." "Two shares of Tear on him, and the smallest share on me," said the widow's eon.

She bad laid it as crosses and as spells on the giant, not to come near her for a day and a year, and they were together in the giant's house till evening.

She hid him, and had n long Ulk with the giant when be came homo, who was wheedled, as in the other story, into telling first that his life (BETHA) was in (CABM OLAS UD THAU.) yonder grey cairn. The lady was addressed as N кип NN вши СНОШЕ пион— О daughter of king of COIOE uuoii, which kingdom is not within my geographical studies.

The giant came home, and found the grey cairn dressed out and ornamented, and after a deal of persuasion, gave out that his life was in SEAM» »TOO DABRICII—an old oak stump on the bank of yonder river. So the next day that was dressed out, and when he camo homo he said, " Do thou make the stock braw, IUUAUII, every day. On the third day they split the oak stump with an axe, and a hare leaped out. "There now is the giant's life away," said the king'a daughter, "and he will come without delay and kill thee, and not spare me." Grey dog of mountain back was called, and brought the hare, and a salmon leaped out into the river. Brown otter of sail stream brought the salmon, and a heath ben sprang out. Blue-eyed falcon of Glen Feist brought the bird, and the giant came roaring—" King's daughter, let me have my life and tbou sbalt have the little chest of gold and the little chest of silver that is in yonder grey cairn." The widow's son answered, " I will have that, and I will have this ; "

TUE TOUNO KINO OF BASA IDE ПИ А НИ. 2 I

and he seized the axe, and the stock fell, and the giant was dead. And the widow's son and the daughter of King Coige Mugh, in Erin, staid in the house and the land of the giant, and their race were there when I was there last.

The warrior's dross of thongs is remarkable, and something like it is described in another tale. There is a carions picture at Taymonlh of a man, supposed to be the Regent Murray, in a Highland dress, which may be the dress described. The upper part is composed of strips of some ornamented material, which might be stamped gilded leather ; the rest of the dress is a b'ncn shirt, with ruffles, and a plaid wrapped about the body in the form of a modern kilt, and belted plaid ; he wears stockings and shoes of a peculiar pattern : the head-dress is a bonnet with an ostrich plume ; the arms, a dirk and a long ornamented gun.

There is another picture at Dytchley, in Oxfordshire, which represents an ancestor of Lord Dillon in an Irish costume. The dren consists solely of а тегу short garment like a shirt, coloured, and тегу much ornamented with tags, which might be leather. The gentleman is armed with a spear, and the dress is probably a masquerade representation of a real Irish dress of some period.

I would here remark that the personages and places in all these talcs are like the actors in a play and the scenes. The incidents тагу but little, but the kings and their countries тагу with every version, though there is a preference for Brin, Ireland ; Lochlain, Srandinavin, or rather Denmark and Norway ; and Qrenge, the Qreekdom, Greece.

8. I Ьате a third version of this written by MacLean, told by John МасРЫя, in South Uist. The old man was тегу proud of it, and said it was "the ПЛКОЕЯТ" story that the transcriber had ever beard. He told me the same.

As often happens with aged reciters, when he repeated it a second time slowly for transcribing, nearly all the curious, " impassioned, and sentimental" language was left out. This is MacLean's account, and it entirely agrees with my own experience of this man, who is next thing to a professional reciter (see introduction). This version is the most curious of the three. I hope some day to get it better copied, so I do not abstract it now

22 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

It is nearer the Roes-shire version than the Islay story, and carriel the scene to Greece froni Ireland. The reciter is 79, and sayi lie learned it in his youth from an old man of the name of John MacDonald, Aird a Mhachair.

The principle on which gaming is carried on in this and in other talcs is peculiar. The stake is rather a ransom, for it is always settled .üícr the game is decided.

The g.iinu pluyod is i л ii.KAMI, which Armstrong translatée as, sport, gamo, mirth, chess, backgammon, draughts.

This story resembles in some particulars—

1. The Gaelic tale published by Dr. MacLeod, printed page

30, Leobbar Nnn Cnoc. 1834.

2. The Sea Maiden, in present collection, and the stories referred to in the notes.

3. TI"- Giant who had no Heart in his Body. Norse Tales.

1859.

4. The .Seven Foals, where a homo advises his rider. None

Tales.

5. Dapplegrim, where the same occurs, where there are two

horses, and whore the rider hides about the horses. Norse Tales.

6. Fortunio, where the luirse also advises bis rider.

7. This also resembles a part of the " Arabian Nights,'1 where

the Calender is changed into a monkey, and the princess fights a gonius in various shapes.

8. " The IJall of Crystal," Grimm, where the power of an

enchanter is in a crystal kill, in an egg, in a fiery bird, in a wild ox.

9. Tho Thire Sisters, page 52, where a little key is found

in an egg, in a dark, in a bull. This book is an Kngliiih translation (1645) of Volks Murchen, by Musaeus, 1782. Said to have boon published in English in 1790.

10. Another version of the Sea Maiden recited to me in South Uist. The soul of the Sea Maiden was in an egg, in a gooêe, in a ram, in a wild bull, and was got by the help of an utter, a falcon, a wolf, and a lion.

THB Y HUNO KINO OF КЛНЛ mil RUADE. 23

Lempriere—jJZgyptut—Kneph or Knovphù—A God, represented H л тат. He WM the soul of the world ; hie symbol a circle, in the centre of which is a serpent with the head of a hawk, or я globo with a serpent turned round it. Together with mind, the primitive matter was given, both produced from the same great principle, existing in it from nil eternity, imperishable. The primitive matter was rude and shapeless when the spirit imparted to it the power of motion, and gave it the form of a sphere. This became the sphere or egg of the world which JKneph let fall from kit mouth when he wished to form all things.

It is warmly contended by Irish writer« that the religion of the Celt«, and the CclU themselves, came from 1'bcenicia and Cartlmgo.

If this story bo mythological, hero is something liko it.

We have the hawk, ram, and a bird ; and in the Inverary version we have a/uA and the »717, with the life of bird, beast, fish, and man in it.

There is in a place called Lok Marien-leer, in Morbihan, Brittany, a long, dark, underground passage, at the end of which are certain rudely sculptured stones. On one of these is something which bears some faint resemblance to the snake, who appears in the next tale.

There is one word in this tale, " КЕЛНО," which is not given in dictionaries as a substantive. Sing, applied to an Indian prince, means lion, and the boost here described might be one. Seang, as an adjective, means thin, slim, slender, gaunt, and is the root of Keangan, an ant.

In Prichard's " Celtio Nations," by Latham, 1866, a Dacota word is quoted—" SUHCIKA, which originally comprehended the idea of Dog, Fox, and Wolf.

The word Овололся, which here means some male personage, generally means a maiden. It also means " A female *|<ectre of the class of Brownies to which (he Highland dairy-maids made frequent libations of milk—rarely THE СШЕГ or л PLATE."— Arnatrong die. This word, which has not its common meaning, may help to trace the language. The root is Gaiuo, the hair of the bead.

A Qruagach used to haunt Skipnes* Castle, and is still re-

г 4 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

membered there aa a supernatural female who did odd jobs about tho house for the maids, and lived in the ruin.

" There was also a Qruagach in Kerriedale, in (¡airloch, in Rose-shire, once upon a time."

This may be the same word as Qroac'h or Clrac'h, a name given to the Druidesses, who had colleges in an island near the coasts of Brittany (p. 165, vol. i., Foyer Breton). The story given has many incidents common to tho Gaelic stories.

The sword of light is common in Gaelic stories ; and, stripped of supernatural qualities, the whole thing seems very like an account of some race contending with another, whose chief wore long hair, who had horses and bright (? steel) swords, to which extraordinary virtues were attributed, and who were at the same timo beset by savages who lived in caves, and were assisted by other savages represented by creatures.

THE BATTLE OF THE BIRDS.

From John Mackenzie, fisherman, near Inverary.

was onco a time when every creature and bird woe gathering to battlo. Tlie eon of the king of Tethertown* said, that he would go to see the battle, and that he would bring sure word home to his father the king, who would be king of the creatures this year. The battle was over before he arrived all but one (fight), between a great black raven and a snake, and it seemed as if the snake would get the victory over the raveu. When the king's eon saw this, ho helped the raven, and with one blow takes the head off the snake. When the raven had taken breath, and saw that the snake was dead, he said, " For thy kindness to mo this day, I will give thee a sight Come up now on the root of my two wings." The king's son mounted upon the raven, and, before he stopped, he took him over seven Bens, and seven Glens, and seven Mountain Moon.

" Now," said the raven, " soest thou that house yonder t Go now to it It is a sister of mine that mako« lier dwelling in it ; and I will go bail that thou art welcome. And if she asks thee, Wert thou at the battle of the birds t say thou that thou wert And if she asks, Didst thou see my likeness f say that thon

• Na cathair t'sbeamain. Heather rope« are u«cd for binding thatch on Highland collages.

а б WEST HIGHLAND TALEa

sa west it But be sure that thon meetest me to-morrow morning here, in this place." The king's son got good and right good treatment this night Meat of each meat, drink of each drink, warm water to his feet, and a soft bed for his limbs.

On the next day the raven gave him the same sight over seven Bens, and seven Glens, and seven Mountain moors. They saw a bothy far off, but, though far off, they were soon there. He got good treatment this night, as before—plenty of meat and drink, and warm water to his feet, and a soft bed to his limbs—and on the next day it was the same thing.

On the third morning, instead of seeing the raven as at the other times, who should meet him but the handsomest lad he ever saw, with a bundle in his hand. The king's eon asked this lad if he had seen а big black raven. Said the lad to him, " Thou wilt never see the raven again, for I am that raven. I was put under spells ; it was meeting thoe that loosed me, and for that thou art getting this bundle. Now," said the lad, " thou wilt turn back on the self-same steps, and thou wilt lie a night in each house, as thou wert before ; but thy lot is not to lose the bundle which I gave thee, till thou art in the place where thou wouldst most wish to dwell."

The king's son turned his bock to the lad, and his face to his father's house ; and he got lodging from the raven's sisters, just as he got it when going forward. When he was nearing his father's house he was going through a close wood. It seemed to him that the bundle was growing heavy, and he thought he would look what was in it

When he loosed the bundle, it was not .without astonishing himself. In a twinkling he sees the very grandest place he ever saw. A great castle, and an

THE BATTLE OF THE BIRDS. tj

orchard about the castle, in which was every kind of fruit and herb. He stood full of wonder and regret for having loosed the bundle—it was not in his power to put it back again—and he would have wished this pretty place to be in the pretty little green hollow that was opposite his father's house ; but, at one glance, he sees a great giant coming towards him.

" Bad's the place where thou hast built thy house, king's son," says the giant. " Yee, but it is not here I would wish it to be, though it happened to be here by mishap," says the king's son. " What's the reward thou wouldst give me for putting it back in the bundle as it wan before?" "What's the reward thouwouldst ask /" says the king's son. " If thou wilt give me the first son thou hast when he is seven years of age," says the giant " Thou wilt get that if I have a son," said the king's son.

In a twinkling the giant put each garden, and orchard, and castle in the bundle as they were before. "Now," says the giant« "take thou thine own road, and I will tako my road ; but mind thy promise, and though thou shouldst forget, I will remember."

The king's son took to the road, and at the end of a few days ho reached the place he was fondest of. He loosed the bundle, and the same place was just as it was before. And when he opened the castle-door he sees the handsomest maiden he ever cast eye upon. " Advance, king's son," said the pretty maid ; " evcry- thing is in order for thco, if thou wilt marry me this very night." " It's I am the man that is willing," said the king's son. And on that same night they married.

But at the end of a day and seven years, what i*> great man is seen coming to the caetle but the giant The king's son minded his promise to the giant, and till now he had not told his promise to the queen. "

2 8 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

" Leave thou (the matter) betwoon mo and tho giant," says tho queen.

" Turn out thy son," says the giant ; " mind your promise." " Thou wilt get that," says the king, " when his mother puts him in order for his journey." The queen arrayed the cook's son, and she gave him to the giant by the hand. The giant went away with him ; but he hod not gone far when he put a rod in the hand of the little laddie. The giant asked him—" If thy father had that rod what would he do with it Î" " If my father had that rod he would beat the dogs and the cats, if they would be going near tho king's meat," said the little laddie. "Thou'rt the cook's son," said the giant. He catches him by tho two small ankles and knocks him—" Sgleog "—against tho stono that was beside him. The giant turned back to the castle in rage and madness, and ho said that if they did not turn out the king's son to him, the highest stone of the castle would be the lowest. Said the queen to the king, " we'll try it yet ; the butler's son is of the same age as our son." She arrayed the butler's son, and she gives him to the giant by the hand. Tho giant hod not gone far when he put the rod in his hand. " If thy father had that rod," says the giant, " what would he would do with it Î " " He would beat the dogs and the cats when they would be coming near the king's bottles and glasses." " Thou art the son of the butler," says the giant, and dashed his brains out too. The giant returned in.very great rage and anger. The earth shook under the solo of his feet, and the castle shook and all that was in it. " OUT HERE THY SON," says tho giant, "or in a twinkling the stone that is highest in the dwelling will bo the lowest." So needs must they had to give the king*a son to the giant

The giant took him to his own house, and he

THE BATTLE OF THE BIRDS. 19

reared him as his own son. On a day of days when the giant was from home, the lad heard the sweetest music he ever heard in a room at the top of the giant's house. At a glance he saw the finest face he had ever seen. She beckoned to him to come a bit nearer to her, and she told him to go this time, but to be sure to bo at the same place about that dead midnight

And as he promised he did. The giant's daughter was at his side in a twinkling, and she said, "Tomorrow them wilt get the choice of my two sisters to marry ; but say them that thou wilt not take either, but me. My father wants me to marry the son of the king of the Green City, butjjdanlt-lika^im." On the morrow the giant took out his three daughters, and he said, " Now, son of the king of Tethertown, thou hast not lost by living with me so long. Thou wilt get to wife one of the two eldest of my daughters, and with her leave to go home with her the day after the wedding." "If thou wilt give mo this pretty littlo one," says the king's son, " I will take tlioe at thy word."

The giant's wrath kindled, and ho said, " I'.oforo thou gett'st her thou must do the three things that I ask thro to do." " Say on," says the king's son. The giant took him to the byre. " Now," says the giant, " the dung of the hundred cattle is here, and it has not been cleansed for seven years. I am going from homo to-day, and if this byre is not cleaned before night comes, so clean that a golden apple will run from end to end of it, not only thou ehalt not get my daughter, but 'tis a drink of thy blood that will quench my thirst this night" lie begins cleaning the byre, but it was just as well to keep baling the great ocean. After mid-day, when sweat was blinding him, the giant's young daughter came where he was, and she said to him, "Thou art being punished, king's sou."

30 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

" I am that," says the king's son. " Come over," says she, " and lay down thy weariness." " I will do that," says he, " there is hut death awaiting me, at any rate." He sat down near her. He was so tired that he fell asleep heside her. When he awoke, the giant's daughter was not to ho seen, hut the byre was so well cleaned that a golden apple would rim from end to end of it In comes the giant, and he said, " Thou hast cleaned the byre, king's son Í " "I have cleaned it," says he. " Somebody cleaned it," says the giant " Thou didst not clean it, at all events," said the king's son. " Yes, yes !" says the giant, "since thou wert so active to-day, thou wilt get to this time to-morrow to thatch this byre with birds' down—birds with no two leathers of one colour." The king's son was on foot before the sun ; he caught up his bow and his quiver of arrows to kill the birds. He took to the moors, but if he did, the birds were not so easy to take. He was running after them till the sweat was blinding him. About mid-day who should come but the giant's daughter. "Thou art exhausting thyself, king's son," says she. " I am," said he. "There fell but those two blackbirds, and both of one colour." " Come over and lay down thy weariness on this pretty hillock," says the giant's daughter. " It 's I am willing," said he. "He thought she would aid him this time, too, and he sat down near her, and he was not long there till he fell asleep.

When he awoke, the giant's daughter was gone. He thought he would go back to the house, and he sees the byre thatched with the feathers. When the giant came home, he said, " Thou hast thatched the byre, king's son 1 " "I thatched it," says he. " Somebody thatched it," says the giant " Thou didst not thatch it," says the king's son. " Yes, yes I " says the giant

TUB BATTLE OF THE BIBD8. 3 I

" Now," says the giant, " there is a fir-tree beside that loch down there, and there is a magpie's nest in its top. The eggs thou wilt find in the nest I must have them for my first meal. Not one must be bant or broken, and there are five in the nest." Early in the morning the king's son went where the tree was, and that tree was not hard to hit upon. Its match was not in the whole wood. From the foot to the first branch was five hundred feet The king's son was going all round the tree. She came who was always bringing help to him. "Thou art losing the skin of thy hands and feet" " Ach I I am," says he. " I am no sooner up than down." " This is no time for stopping," says the giant's daughter. She thrust finger after finger into the tree, till she made a ladder for the king's son to go up to the magpie's nest When he was at the nest, she said, " Make haste now with the eggs, for my father's breath is burning my back." In his hurry she left her little finger in the top of the tree. " Now," saye she, " thou wilt go home with the eggs quickly, and thou wilt got mo to marry tonight if thou canst know me. I and my two sisters will be arrayed in the same garments, and made like each other, but look at me when my father says, Go to thy wife, king's son ; and thou wilt see a hand without a little finger." He gave tho eggs to the giant " Tes, yes !" says the giant, " be making ready for thy marriage."

Then indeed there was a wedding, and it was a wedding l G ¡ante and gentlemen, and the son of the king of the Green City was in the midst of them. They were married, and the dancing began, and that was a dance I The giant's house was shaking from top to bottom. But bed time came, and the giant said, " It i> tune for thoe to go to rest, son of tho

3* ' wnr HKBUSD TAUS.

king oí Tethotowm; take thy bride with thee from

She pot oat the hud off which the bale finger was, and he caught her by *Ьл bend,

"Thoehast aimed well this tine too; hot then k no knowing but we may meet thee another way," •aid the giant.

Bat to rest they went " Now," says che, "deep not, or else thoa diect We must fly quick, quick, or for certain my father will kill thee."

Out they went, and on the blue gray fiDy in the stable they mounted. " Stop a while," says ehe, " and I will play a trick to the old hero." She jumped in, and cut an apple into nine shires, and she put two shares at the head of the bed, and two shares at the foot of the bed, and two shares at the door of the kitchen, and two shares at the big door, and one outside the bouse.

The giant awoke and called, "Are you asleep I" " We are not yet," said the apple that was at the heed of the bed. At the end of a while he called again. " We are not yet," said the apple that was at the foot of the bed. A while after this he called again. " We are not yet," said the apple at the kitchen door. The giant called again. The apple that was at tho big door answered. " You are now going far from me," says the giant "We ore not yet," says the apple that was outside the house. " You are flying," saya the giant The giant jumped on his feet» and to the bed he went, but it was cold—empty.

" My own daughter's tricks are trying me," said the giant " Here's after them," says ho.

In the mouth of day, the giant's daughter said that her father's breath was burning her back " Put thy hand, quick," said she, " in the ear of the gray filly, and whatever thou findest in it, throw it behind thee."

THE BATTLE OF THE BIRDS.

лзл>~

"There ie л twig of_eloe_tree," said he. "Throw it behind thee," said abe.

No sooner did he that, than there were twenty miles of block thorn wood, so thick that scarce a weasel could go tl trough it. The ginnt como headlong, and there ho is fleecing his lira J and neck in the thorns.

" My own daughter's tricks are here as before," said the giant ; " but if I had my own big axe and wood knife here, I would not be long making a way through this." He went home for the big axe and the wood knife, and sure he was not long on his journey, and he was the boy behind the big axe. He was not long making a way through the black thorn. " I will leave the axe and the wood knif'o here till I return," says ho. " If thou leave them," said a Hoodie* that was in a tree, " we will steal them."

" You will do that same," says the giant, " but I will set them home." He returned and left them at the house. At tho heat of day the giant's daughter felt her father's breath burning her back.

" Put thy finger in tho filly's car, and throw bcliind thee whatever thou findest in it" Ho got a splinter of gray stone, and in a twinkling there were twenty miles, by breadth and height, of great gray rock behind them. The giant came full pelt, but past the rock he could not go.

" The tricks of my own daughter are the hardest tilings that ever mot mo," says the giant ; " but if I had my lever and my mighty mattock, I would not lie long making my way through this rock also." There was no help for it, but to turn tho chase for them ; and ho was tho boy to split the stones. He was not long making a road through the rock. " I will leave

• The principal Garifo vowcli bear tome resemblance to the cawing of a hoodie. They are all broad A. D

34 ' WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

the tools höre, and I will return no more." " If thou leave them," says the hoodie, "wo will steal them." " Do thut if thou wilt ; there is no time to go back." At the time of breaking the watch, the giant's daughter said that she was feeling her father's breath burning her back. " Look in the filly's ear, king's son, or else we are lost." He did so, and it was a bladder of water I hat was in her ear this time. He threw it behind him and there was a fresh-water loch,, twenty miles in length and breadth, beliind them. ... ,

The giant саше on, but with the speed he had on him, he was in the middle of the loch, and he went under, and he rose no mora

On the next day the young companions were come in sight of his father's house. " Now," said she, " my father is drowned, imd ho won't trouble us any more ; but before we go further," soys she, " go thou to thy father's house, and tell that thou hast the like of mo ; but this is thy lot, let neither man nor creature kiss thee, for if thou dost thou wilt not remember that thou hast ever seen me." Every one ho met was giving him welcome and luck, and he charged his father und mother not to kiss him ; but as mishap was to be, an old greyhound was in and she know him, and jumped up to his mouth, and after that lie did not remember the giant's daughter.

She was sitting at the well's side as he left her, but the king's son was not coming. In the muuth of night she climbed up into a tree of oak that was beside the well, and she lay in the fork of the tree all that night A shoemaker had a house near the well, and'about mid-day on the morrow, the shoemaker asked liis wife to go for a drink for him out of the welL When the shoemaker's wife reached the well, and when she saw the shadow of her that was in the tree, think-

THE BATTLE OF THE BIRDS. 3 J

ing of it that it was her own shadow—and she never thought till now that she was so handsome—she gave a cast to the dish that was in her hand, and it was broken on the ground, and she took herself to the house without vessel or water.

" Whore is the water, wife ?" said the shoemaker. " Thou shambling, contemptible old carle, without grace, I have stayed too long thy water and wood thrall" * " I am thinking, wife, that thou hast turned crazy. Go thou, daughter, quickly, and fetch a drink for thy father." His daughter went, and in the same way so it happened to her. She never thought till now that she was so loveable, and she took herself home. " Up with the drink," said her father. " Thou home-spunf shoe carle, dost thou think that I am fit to be thy thrall" The poor shoemaker thought that they had taken a turn in their understandings, and he went himself to the well He saw the shadow of the maiden in the well, and ho looked up to the tree, and he sees the finest woman he ever saw. " Thy seat is wavering, but thy faco is fair," said the shoemaker. " Come down, for there is need of thee for a short while at my house." The shoemaker understood that this was the shadow that had driven bis people mad. The shoemaker took her to hie house, and he said that he had but a poor bothy, but that she should get a share of all that was in it At the end of a day or two came a leash of gentlemen lads to the shoemaker's house for shoes to be made them, for the king had come home, and he was going to marry. The glance the lads gave they saw the giant's daughter, and if they saw her, they never saw one so pretty as she. " 'Tie thou host the pretty daughter here," said the lads to the shoemaker. " She is pretty, indeed," says the shoemaker,

• Triill, a liare. f Pcillag, felt, coarse cloth.

3 б TEST HIGHLAND TALES.

" but she is no daughter of mine." "St. Nail 1 " said one of them, " I would give a hundred pounds to marry her." The two others said the very same. The poor shoemaker said that he had nothing to do with her. " But," said they, " ask her to-night, and send us word to-morrow." When the gentles went away, she asked the shoemaker—" AVhat 's that they were saying about mel" The shoemaker told her. "Go thou after them," said she ; " I will marry one of them, and let him bring his purse with him." The shoemaker went after them, and he told that The youth returned, and he gave the shoemaker a hundred pounds for tocher. They went to rest, and when she had laid down, she asked the lad for a drink of water from a tumbler that was on the board on the further side of the chamber. He went ; but out of that he could not come, as he held the vessel of water the length of the night. " Thou lad," said she, " why wilt thou not lie down 1 " but out of that ho could not drag till the bright morrow's day was. The shoemaker came to the door of the chamber, and she asked him to take away that lubberly boy. This wooer went and l>etook himself to his home, but ho did not tell the other two how it happened to him. Next came the second chap, and and in the same way, when she had gone to rest— " Look," she said, " if the latch is on the door." The latch laid hold of his hunds, and out of that he could not come the length of the night, and out of that he did not come till the morrow's day was bright. He went, under shame and disgrace. Ко matter, he did not tell the other chap how it had happened, and on the third night he came. As it happened to the two others, so it happened to him. One foot stuck to the floor ; he could neither come nor go, but во he was the length of the night. On the morrow, he took his

TUE BATTLE OF THE BIRDS. 37

solee out (of that), and he was not seen looking behind him. " Now," said the girl to the shoemaker, " thine is the sporran of gold ; I have no need of it It will better thce, and I am no worse for thy kindness to me." The shoemaker hod the shoes ready, and on that very day the king was to be married. The shoemaker was going to the castle with the shoes of the young people, and the girl said to the shoemaker, " I would like to get a sight of the king's son before he marries." " Come with me," says the shoemaker, " I am well .«cquainted with the servants at the castle, and thou bba'i get a sight of the king's son and all the company." And when the gentles saw the pretty woman that was here they took her to the wedding-room, and they filled for her a glass of wine. When she was going to drink what is in it, a flame went up out of the glass, and a golden pigeon and a silver pigeon sprung out of it They were flying about when three grains of barley fell on the floor. The silver pigeon sprang, and he oate thai Said the golden pigeon to him, " If thou hadst mind when I cleared the byro, thou wouldst not eat that without giving me a share." Again fell three other grains of barley, and the silver pigeon sprang, and he cats that, as before. " If thou hadst mind when I thatched the byre, thou wouldst not eat that without giving me my share," says the golden pigeon. Three other grains fall, and the silver pigeon sprang, and he eats that " If thou hadst mind when I harried the magpie's nest, thou wouldst not eat that without giving me my share," says the golden pigeon ; " I lost my little finger bringing it down, and I want it still" The king's son minded, and he knew who it was ho had got He sprang where she was, and kissed her from hand to mouth. And when the priest came they married a second time. And there I left them.

38 WEST montAND TALES.

Tliig version of tlio liuttlo of tlio Binls wne rocilod by John Mackenzie, April 1859, anil written in Gaelic by Hector Unjuhart. The reciter is a fisherman, and has resided for the last thirty-four years nt Ceanraore, near Inverary, on the estate of the Duke of Argyll. He is a nutive of Lorn. He suys be has known it from his youth, and he has been in the habit of repeating it to his friends on winter nights, as a pastime. "He can read English and play the bagpipes, atiJ hat a memory like Oliver and ßoyii'i Almanac." He got this and his other stories from his father and other old people in Lorn and elsewhere. He is about sixty years of age, and was employed, April 1859, in building dykes on the estate of Ardkinglas, where Hector Urquhart is gamekeeper. In reciting hie stories he has all the manner of a practised narrator ; people si ill frequent his house to hear his tales. I know the man, and I have heard him recite many. The Gaelic bas some few north country words.

CATH NAN EUN.

Пил am inn ualr, anns an robh cm 1Г ulle beathach 's eun a cruinn- eachadh gu cath. Tlmbhairt mac righ Cathair Slriomain, "Gu'n rachadh e a dh' f haicinn a chain, agus gun d' thugadh e ño» cinut- eacu dliachaidh do dli1 athair an rtgh, со a bbiodli 'na righ air na beathaichcan air a bliliadhna so." Bha 'n cath seachad mu 'n driiinige, ach eadaraon-f liitheacli mor dubli agus nathair, agus bha aogas gu'm fuigheadh an uathair buaidh air an f hithcach. 'Nuair a chunnaic mac an rtgh go, chuidich e 'm fltheach, agus le aon bhuille thugar an counn do 'n nathair. 'Nuair a leig am fllheach anall, 'sa chuinmic e gu'n rolili an nuthair marhh, tliubliulrt «, " Air son do cliaoimbneis dhomhsa an diugli, bbeir miso scalladh dliuit; thig a nios а та air bun mo dha sgcltbe." Chaidli mac an rtgh suas air in ni u an f liiihich agus run 'n do stad e, thug e thairis e air seaclid beanntaibh, seachd glum, agus seachd monaidbean. "A nit," ¡ira' am fitneach, " am bheil thu faicinn an tigh 'ud thhll ; falbh a nis d'à 'ionnsuidh ; 's i piuthar dhomhsa a tha gabhail cbmhnuidh ano agus thdid mis '«n т KM gu'r è do bheatha, agus ma du' f hoighneachdaa i .Hunt, 'an robh thu aig Catli nan eun? abair thusa, 'gu'n robh'." " Agus ma dh' f heöraicheas i dhïot, 'am faca tu mo choltas-sa, abair thusa 'gu 'm faca, ach bi cinntcach gu'n coinnlcb thu mise moch am mail-each «nns an hite so." Fhuair mac an rlgh gsbliail aii;e gu maith 's gu ro mhaitb air an oidbche so, biailh dbcth guch biadh, 'e

CATII NAN EUN. 39

cleoch dheth gach dcoch, unge blhth d'à chasan '» leaba bhog d'à lensan. Air an nth latha, thug am fitheach an sealladh ceudna ilhii thairis air seachd beanntaibh, seachd glinn, agus aeachrt monaidhean. Chonnaic iad botban fad' uatha ach ge b' f had uatha, cbu b' f hada 'ga 'ruighraclui. Fhuair e gabliail aig' air an nidhche so gu maitb mar an c«udna; pnilteas biadh 'a deoch, 's uisge blhth d'achasan, 's leaba bhog d'à leasan. Ansn trees maduinn an hit' an f hithich f haicinn, mar air na h-uairean roimhe, Co thug coinneamh dha, ach an t-bgan- acha bu dhreachmhoire a chunnaic e riamh, agus pasgan aige na laimh. Dh' f hoigneachd mac an rtgh do 'n bganach so, " Am fac я fitheach mbr dubli 7 " Thubhalrt an t-bganach ri«, " Cha 'n 'f haie thu 'm litheach tuillidh, Oir 's mis« am fitheach a bba 'sin ; bha mi air mo chair foghcasaibh agus'se tliusa a choinneachadh a dh' fhuasgail mi, air son sin, tha tliu a' faoulnn a phasgain so." " Ni«," an' an t-nganoch, "pillidh tu air t'a» air a chois-cheum chcudnn, agim bithldh tu oidhche anns gach tigh mar a bha t Im roimhe; ach am bonn a tha agad ri dhcannmh, 'na fuasgail am pafgan sin a thug ml dhuit, gus am Ы thu anns an hit« bu mhiannaiche leat a bhltli chomhnuidh." Thug mac an rtgh a chul air an bganacb, agus thug • aghaldh air tigh Athar, ague fhuairreaoidheachdaigpeathralchean an f hithich ceart mar a fhnair e Mol air aghaidh. Nunir a bba e dluthachadh air tigh athar, bha e 'dol troimhe choille dhiimliail ; air lei«, gu 'n robh am posgan a' flu trom, agus smnoinich e gu 'и seall- adh e gu dé a bh' ann. 'Nuair a dh' fhuasgail e 'm pasgan, cha b' ann gun iongantas a chur air f heïn. Ann am prioba na sula, faicear an aon alte bu bhrcagba a chunnaic e riamh cnisteal mbr, agus Нон, anns an robb na h-uile seorsa meas is luibhean man cualrt air a' chaisteal. Sheas e Ihn iongantais, agus aithreachais air son am pasgan fhuaagladh. Cha robh 'na chômai a chur air ais a nthi-i. agus bu mhiann leis an t-hite bbidheach so a Mi it n air an lagan bbbidhrach ualne a bha fa chomhair tigh athar. Ach siiil do 'n d' thug e, faiorar famhair mbr, 's e gabhail d'à 'ionnsnidh. " 'S ole an t-hlta anns an do thog thu do thigh, a mhlc an rich," an' am fambalr. " Seadh, ach cha b' nnn an so bu mhiannaiche learn e 'bhith, ge do thacháir e 'bhlth ann gu tubaisteach," агаа mnc an rtgh. •' Ciod an duals a bheireadh tu air son a chur air ais sa phasgan mará bha e roimhe?" " Ciod an duals a dh' iarradh in?" ana mac an righ. "Mabheir thu dhbmhs' a cheud mhac a bhitheas ag«d, 'nualr a bhitheaa e s«achd bliadhna dh' »ois," an* am famhair. " Gheibh thu sin ma bhitheai mac agam," thubhairt mac an ri;h. Ann am prioba na itilacbuir am famhair gach lioa is ghrradh is Calsteal 'sa phugan mar я bha iad roimhe. " Nia," an' am famhair, " gabh than do rathad fein, 's

4O WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

gabhaidh mise mo ratlmd foin, ach culmhnich do glieulliulli 'i ged nach cuimlinicli thusa, cha di'Cliuimbnich mise." Thug mac an iigh an rutliml air, 's an coann Ьеацап laithean rliinig e 'D t-hite bu mhiaunaiche leis; dh' fhuasgail e 'm posgan, agua bha 'n t-aiu ceudna direach mar a Uia e roimhe, aguí a niiair a dh' f hoagail e ilorua a chaisteail, faicear an oigh bu dhreachmhoire air an d' thug • •¡ill riamh. " Thlg air t-aghaidh, a rnhic an rigli," ar*'an nighean bhoidhcach, " tlm gacb nl an brdugli air do »lion, ma phonal tu mise, an nocbd fein." 'S mit' an duino a bhitheus toileuch," Uiubbairt mac an righ ; aguí air a» oidhche ein fr'in phbs lad. Ach an ccann latha 'a ccachd bliadhna со 'm fear muí a chitliear a tighinn a dh' ¡onnsuidh a chaiateail ach am famhair. Chuimhnich mac an righ a gbealladh do 'n famhair, agua gut л so, cha d' innis e do 'n bhan-rlgh a ghealladh. " Leig tluia' eiidar nut« 'a am famhair," ara1 a bhan- righ. "Cuir а mach do mhac," an' am famhair; "cuiinhnioh do ghealladh." " Gheibh thu bin," ara' an righ, " 'nuair a chuireaa a mhathair an ordugh e air son a tburais." Sgeadaich a bhan-rigb. mac a cbocaire agua thug i do 'n f hamhair air lainih e. Dh' f halbh am famhair leia, ach cha b' f hada a chaidh e, 'nuair a chuir e elatag min an liiimb a ghille-bliig. Dh' f heoraich am famhair dbeth, " Na 'in bitheadh an t-slutag ein aig t-athair, de 'dhèanadli e, leatha?" " Na 'm biodh an t-blat во aig m' athair, ghabliadh e air na Coin 's air na Cait na 'm biodh iad a dol a choir biadh »n righ," ara' an gille- beag. " 'S tusa mac a chbcaire," ara' am famhair. Beirear air dha chuol Cola' air, agus ogleogar e ria a chloich a bba ri' tliaobh. '1 bill am famhair air ais u dh' ionnauidh a chaisteail ann am feirg is cutli- ach, 'в thubhaTt e, " Mar cuireadh iad a mach dhaaan mac an righ, gu 'in b' e 'clilacb a b1 uirde a chlach a b' iele bbioilh do 'n chaisteal." Thubhairt a bban-righ ri> an righ, " Feucbaidh sinn fatbaat o, tha mac u bhuidoalulr an aon auis rl ar mac fuin." Sgendalch i mac a bhuldealair, agus tluigar do 'n f hniiihuir e air lUimli. Cha deacli am famhair ach goirid, nuair a chuir e 'n t-alatag 'na Ihinih, " Na 'in bitheadh an t-alat во aig t-athair," are' am famhair, " dé a dhèau- adh e lealha?" "Gliablmdh e air na Coin 'a air na Cait 'nuair а bhíodh lad a tighinn dlùth air botail 's air gloinneacliun an righ." " '8 tuu mac a bhuidealair," ars' am famhair, is spud e 'n t-eanchainn as air an doigli chcudna. Tliill am famhair, ann am feirg is corruich ro min ir. l'luit h an lal.tmh fo 'bhonn, 'a chrith an caisteal 's na bli1 ann. " MACH AN so DO лнАО," are' am famhair, " oir an nam prioba na aula 's e chlach is àirde, 'chlach is Ые bhitheas do 'n aitreabh." 'S e bh' aim gu m b' eiginn mac an rigb thabhairt do 'n f hamhair. Thug am famhair e d'à thigh fein, agus thog e mar mhac dim fern e.

САТП NAN EUN. 4'

Latha do na lailhibh 's am famhair bha 'n bhaile, chnala an t-bgan- ai'li an cool bu bhinno a clmal e riamh, ann onsebmar а bha 'm rnull- ach tigh an f h.im luir. Siiil da 'n d'lhng e, chunnaic e an aghaidh ba bhrèagha a chunnaic e riamh. Smèid i air e Ihighinn ni bu dluith« dhi, agus thnbliairt i ri«, " £' dir f halbh air an am w> ach e bhith cinnteach e 'bhith anna an Kite cheudna mu mharbh mheadhain-na h-oidhche so;" nmis таг а gheall, choimhlion. Bha nighean in (li.iinli.iir ri' thaobh .-um am prioba na siila agu* thnbliairt i ris, "Am moireach ghcibh thu do roghainn rl photadh dheth mo dha phiuth- ar; ach abair thu-.ч nach gabh thu a h-aon ilhiubh ach mis« ; tha m' athair air son gu 'm pbs mi mae rtgh na Cathair uaine, ach '• coma learn с." Air an Intim maireach, Ihup am famhair a mach a thriuir nighean 's thubhairt », " Ni« a mhic rtgh na cathoir slfiomain, cha ilo chaill thu aira bhith Iramsa cho fnde: gheibh thu air non l>ean ann do 'n ilitliii U riñe do m' nighranaibh, agiu bithidli cead flgail dol dhachaiilh Icatha, an de"lgh na bninnse." "Ma bheir tliu dhomh an té" blieag bhoidheach eo," aira mac an rtgh, "gabhaidh mi air (- f bacal tliu." Lai fearg an f Immhnlr, aguí thnbnairt e, ma'm faigh tha sin, feumaldh to na tri nitheanana a dir iarros mi«' ort а dhoan- mnh." " Abair romhad," arsa mac an npli- 'Ihug am famhair do 'n blictliaich e. "NÍ-," an' am famhair, " (ha innear nan ceud damh an M, agus cha deach a chartadh o clieann »achd bliadhna. "Tha mise 'dol o 'n bhaile 'n dingh ациа mar hi 'm bhthach во air a chartadh mu 'n d'thii: an oidhchecho ghlan 'sgu'n ruith ubhall bir o cheann gu reann, dith cha 'n e mhhin nach faigh thu mo nighean, ach 's • deoch dhe d'f huil a changeas mo phntliadh a nochd." 1'oiaichear air cartadh na bathaich, ach bu cheart cho maith tcannadh ri Uom- adh a chuain mbbir. 'N dtfigh mheadhoin-latha '* am fallas 'ga 'dhalladh thhinig nighean bg an f hamhair far an robh e '« thubhairt l ris, "Tba thu 'ga'd' phianadh, а mhic an rlgh." " Tlu» mi 'n •in," arsa mac an rlgh. "Thig a nail," are' in, "agus leij; do sg'ioe." " Ni mi sin," ara esan, " cha 'n 'eil ach ara baa a feitheamh orm со dhiu." Shaidh e sloe Ibimh ríthe. Bha e cho aglth, agus gu 'n do limit e 'па chadal rl 'taobh. 'Nuair a dbhiog e, cha mbh nighean an f hamhair rl fhaicinn; ach bha, bhalhaich cho glan cairte 's gu 'n rnitheadh ubhall bir bho cheinn gu ccnnn dhith. "Steach Шцеаг am famhair, 's tliubhairt с, " Chairt thn 'm bathaich, a mhic on rigb." " Chairt mi," an' esan. * Chalrt neach élginn i," an' am farehair. "Cha do choirt tliu»' i со dhiu," thubhairt mac an rtgh. " Seadh ! Seadh I " ага' am famhair, bhon a' bha thu со tapaldh an diugh, gheibh thu gus an am so am maireach gn tubhadh a bbathaich to le clbimh «bin gun dà It* air an aon datb." Bha mac an rlgh air

42 WEST HIGHLAND TALKS.

a chois roi'ii ghreln. Gblac e a bhogha '• a bhalg-saighead a mharbh- ailh nan èun. Thug e 'in monadh air, acli ma thug, cha robb na liebin cho furasda ri 'm faoUinn. llliu e a ruith 'nan deigh, giis an robb am faillis *ga 'dhalladh. Mu niheadbon-la со 'thigeadh ach nighean an f li.unliair. " Tha thu ga'd1 phianadh, a mhic an ngh," ara' ¡se. "Tha mi," thubhuirt esan, "cha do thuit ach an da lon- dubli so, aguí ¡ad nir aon dath." "Thig a »all, 's leig do egïos air a chnuiMii bhbidheach so," ana nighean an f baniliuir. " 'S mi tha toil' each," thubhuirt esan. Sinaoinich e gu n cobhaircadh i air tiir un Uni so cuidcuchil. Shuidh o B'IOS luiinh rithe, 's cha b'f had' a Um e 'n sin gus un do thuit e 'na chadal ; agus a nuair a dh'uisg o, bha nighean an f Immhuir air fulbh. Smaoinich e tilleadh thun an tighe, 'a faicear am bathaich tiiglite leis na h-itean. 'Nuair a thainig tni tuiuliuir dhachaidh thubhairt e, " Thubh thu 'in bathaich, a mhic an r'igli." "Thubh mi," are' esan. "Thubh cuid-eiginn i," ara' am fumliair. " Clin do thubh thusa 1," area mac an rtgh. " Seadh I Seadh!" ors' am famhair. "'Nis," are' am famhair, "tha craobh ghiubbas ri taobh an loch ud shios agus tha nead pioghaid 'na imillach." " Na b-uibhean a gheibh thu anus an nead, feumaidh iad a bhi agamsa gu mo cheud-inn, gaiJh; cha 'u fhùod a h-aon a bhith sghinte no briste, agus 's e cùig a tha 'san nead." Much 'sa niliad- uinn, illi'l'li.illili mac an righ far an robb a chroobh, '» cha robh sin duilich amas oirre. Cha robh a leith-bhreac 'ea choill' air fad. Bho Чтим gu ruig u ceud mheanglan, cbig o-u.l troidh. Bha mac an righ à dol ceithir thoimchioll air a chraoibh. Tbainig ise 'bha daonnan it Лг.mamli furtachd dha: " Tlia tbu air call craiceann nan Ihmh 's nan cas, a mhic an righ." "Ach tha," ara' esan, "cha luaithe shuaa na .-Inns ml." " Cha 'n a' fuireachd so," arsa nigbeau an f hamhair. Sliath ¡' meur an déigh meur, gus un d' rinn i furadh do mliac an righ gu dol suas do nead na pioghaid. 'Nuair a bha e aig an nead, thubhairt ¡se, " Ucan cabhog a nuas leis na h-uibheam, oir the anail m* athar a' losgodh mo dhroma." LeU a chabhuig a bh* Rir-s:ui, db' fhhg ise 'ludag am mullach na craoibhe. "Nis," ars' ise, " thc'iil thu dhachaidh leis na h-uibhean gu luatli, agus gheibh thu mise ri phósadh а noclid та dli'uitliuicheas tu mi ; bithidh mis' agus ino dha pliiuthar air ar n-c'ideuilh anns an aon trusgan, agus air ar duanamh coltach ri' ch¿ile; Ach soall thus' огшан 'nuair a their m' atliuir 'fulbh le d' mhnooi, a mhic an rtgh ; agus chi thu luimh gun lùdag." Thug e na h-uibhuan do'n f hamhair. "Seudhl Seudh I" ars' am famhair, " bi' d6anamh deas chum do phbsadh." 'S aim an sin a bha bhanais, 's b'e bhunais i, f.imhairean 's daoiné uaisle, 's mac rígli na Catliair uuine 'nuin meadliou. Chaidh am pösadh, 's

СЛТИ NAN E U N. 43

11 и.¡sicli an И ii m b M, 't b'e «in an dtmhsa. Bha tigh an f hamhair air chrith Ыю 'mbullach gn 'bhonn. Ach thhinig am dol a loidhe, 'a thubhairt am famhair, " Tha 'n t-am dbuit dol a luidhe, a nihic rtgh na cathalr sMomain, Ihoir leat do blienn as am meadlion tin." Chair I*e mach a Ihimh dheth 'n robh an ludag agus rüg e oirre air loimh. " Dir ainsis tlni gu mnllh air nn am ю cnidcnchd, n b clia 'n'cil lios nach coinnirli sinn thu air diiipli eile," thublinirt am fambair. Ach a luidhe chaidh lad. " A nie," thuirt ine ; "cadal chu dean thu, air neo bluuicbidli tu; feumaidh «inn teicheadh gu luath, oir gun teag- amh marbhnidh m' athair thu." A mach ghabh lad, agns air an loth dhuinn a bha anns an stabull, chaidh lad. " Dean socair bcagan," an' iae, "agus cluicbidh mine deas air an t-seann laoch." Leum 1 •tigli, agus ghehrr 1 nbliall 'im naoi earannan, 's chuir i da earrann dhith aig ceann na leapa, <gus dh enrrnnn aig casan па 1еяра; liîi earrann aig an dorus-chadlia, aguo dh earnnn aig an dorus mli6r,agna a b-aon air taobh a mach an tlghe. I)hiii«g am famhair, ague ghlaodh e, "'M bheil libhse 'nur cadal." "Cba'n 'eil fathast," an' an ubball a bha aig ceann na leapa. An eeann ghreis gblaodh e rithist, "Cha 'n 'eil l itb i-t," are' an ubhall a bha aig casan na leapa. Greis an déigh sin, ghlaodh e rit bist, "Cha 'n 'eil fathast," tbubhairt an iiiib.il aig dorus a chadba. Ghlaodh am fnmhair a rithist, 'l fhreagmir an ublml a bha aig an dorus mhör. "Thasibh a' dol ni'a falde 11.Ч1И," ars' am famhair. "Cha 'n 'eil fathast," ars' an nbhal n bha air taobh a mach an doruU. "Tha sibh a teichadh," ars'am f.Mnb iir. Leum am famhair air a cbasnn, agn* gn ruig an loabaidh chaidh e; ach bha i gu fu.ir, Du, " Tha cuilbheartan mo nighean fein a feuchainn riam," thubluirt am famhair. Air an tbir ghabh e," Am beul an latha, tbuirt nlghean an f hamhair, " Uu 'n robh anail a h-'athair a losgadb • droma." "Cuir do Ibmh gn luath," ars' ise, "ann an cluais na loi h dhuinn, agus ge be ni ghelbh thu imite tilg 'na d' dhifigh e." " Tha bior do sgitheach an •o," tbubhairt e«.in. "Tilg aa de dhelgh e." Cha luaithe rinn e so, na bha flehend mil" do sgitheach cho tiugh ann '• gam bu ghann do neu dol troimhe. Thhinig sm fanih.nir 'na dhian 's siude 'n coinnenmh a chinn 'i amhach anns an sgitheach 11 " Tha cuilbheartan mo nighean Win an so mär an ceudna," thiibbairt nm famhair; "ach na 'm biodh agamu mo thuagh nib.'.r 's mo chore chnille an so, cha li' fluid' a bliithinn a dranamh ralbad tmimlie to." Thill e dhach- akih air ton na tuaidh moire 'a na core cboille, agnt gun teagamh cha robh e fud a' ii;-an«mb ralbad troi -n sgitheach. "Fhgaidh mi 'D tu.iilb 's a chore choille 'n to, gus am till mi," art' eaan. " H* DU' FIIAOAS, thuirt feannag a bha ann ал craubb," goididh

44 WEST HIGHLAND TALKS.

(¡nue lui." "Ni tibli «in Лили," a»' im fainliair, "och cuiridli mise dhachaidh i¡ul." l'hill e agua dli' fhiig e ind aig an tigb. Ann an teas an latlia mhothakh is anail a h'athar a Ungadli a droma. " Cuir do mheur aun an cluais na lotlio, agua til:,' na gheibh thu innte aa do dhdigh." Fbuair e agealb do clilmli ghlais 's tliil»; e аа a (llii'i^h i. Ann ara prioba na sulu, bba fíchead mile do chreaß inliiir ghlas air leud 'a air airilo as an deigh. Tlminig am famhnr 'na dhcnnn, ach seachad air a' chreag cha robb comas dha dol. " 'Se cuilhlieartan mo nighinn fein rud as cruaiilli' a thurliuir riamb rium," an' am famhair. "Ach na 'm bindli agamsa mo ghcamhliig 't mo mhatag mbbr, dm b' fhaila a bbitliinn a di-unnmh rallied ruiinh 'n chreig so cukleachd." B'fbendar tilleadh air an sou, agus b'e fein gille sgoltadh nan clach. Cha robb e fada a dèanaïuh rathnd troimh 'n chreag. " Fugaidh mi an nef huinn an «o, '• cha tbill ml tuillidh." " M v DH' FHAOAS," are' an fheannag, "goididh sinn' iad." "Tba «in '9 a roghainn agad; cha Veil tibm tilleadb aun." Ann am brieteadh na faire tbubhairt nighean an fbamhair, "gu'n robb i mothachalnn anail a b-atbar a longadh a droma." " Scall unn an cluaia na loth», a mine an r\g\i, air neo I ha »inn cailtc." Kinn e •o, agua '» e antroman Ihn uUge a bba 'na cluais air an am so. " Tilg 'na (Г (Икч-li e," агм nighean an fhamhair. Rinn e ao, agua bba loch uisge ächead m'ile air fad 'a air leud 'nan d¿igh. Thhinig am famhair air aghaidh, ach leis an »stur а ЫГ aige, bha e ann am meadholn an loch, agua chaidh e foidhe, 'a cha d' eirith e ni's rab. Air an ath lutha, bha a chuideachd 6g air ti(;lnnii am frudharc tigh HI bar-san. "Nie." ara' ise, "tha in'atlmir buile, '» cha cbuir e dragh tuillidh oirn; " Ach mu 'n d'theid sinn ni 's faide," ara' ise, " räch thusa gu ti^b t'athar, agua innis gu 'bheil mo leilbid->a agad ; acb am tonn a tha agad ri 'dhehnamh, na leig le duine na crbulair do phbgadh ; oir ma ni thu sin, cha bhi cuimbu' agad gu 'faca tu riamb mi." Chuir gach neach mar a bha tachairt air fiiilte is furan air, 's thug e hithne d'à athair 'a d'à mliittliair, gun esan a phbgadh ; ach mar a bha 'n tubaiat 'an dhn, bba sean mhial-chii do phalla 'ileach 's dh' aithnich i e, 's leuin i suaa ri blienl, agua na dhdigh sin dhi-chuimbnivb e nigbean an fbamhair. Bba ise 'na sui'lbe aig laobh an tobair mar a dh' fhag e i, ach cha robh mac an rtgh a' tighinn. Ann am boul na h-oidbclie, itreap i tuaa ann an crnobh do dharacli a bha ri taobli an tobair. Luldh i una u» gobliall na craolbhe fad na h'oidhche sin. lilia tlgh alg greus- elche dlbth do 'n tobar, agus mu mheadbon Ih a' maireach, dh' iarr an greusalch air a mhnaoi, 1 'dhol airson deoch dha as an tobar. 'Nuuir a rainig bean a ghreusaicbe an tobar, 'e а chunnaic i

СЛТН NAN EUN. 45

faileas na ti: a bha anna a chraoibb, air saoilsinn dh'ise gu 'm b'e Talle« fein а ЫГ ann ('s cha do shaoil leatba gn so gu 'n robh i со brèagha), thug i tilgeil do'n chuman a bha 'na liiiinh, 'a bhrist i ría an talamh e, 's thug 1 'n tigh oirre gun chuinnexg gun uisge I "Gait* am bheil nn t-uiige, a bhean," thubhairt an grcusaiche. "A bhodaich Icibidich, ilmurnirli, gun mhaiiw, (ИГ flmn ml tuilidh '* fada 'n am thrkill uugo 'a connaldh agad." " Tha mi ftfin a amaolneachadh, a bhenn, gu'n deach thu air bhoile ; falbh thoaa a nighean, gn luath 's faigh dcoch do d' athair. Dh' fhalbh a nighean, agus air an dbigh cheadoa thachair dhi. Cha do •henil leatha gu so gu 'n robb i со llachdmhor, 's thug i 'n tigh oirre. "Nios an deoch," ars' a h-athalr. "A phenllaig bhodaich nam hriip, an saoil thu gu 'bheil mise RU bhi 'm t liriull niege agad." Smaolnich an grensaicho bochd pu 'n d' thug iud car aa am bcachd, '§ dh 'fhalbh e ftfln do 'n tobar. Chunnnic e falleas na gruagalche son tobar, 's dh' amhairc e suas ilo 'n chrooibh '( faicear am boirionnach ba bhrcsgha a chnnnaic e riamh. " 'a corrach do shuidbeachan ach 's maiseach do ghnliis," thubhairt an greusaiche. " Thig a nuaa oir, thafeum .limit, car bine pliearr 'nam thiph-sa." Tbnig angreusaicb« gu'm b'e so am faiteas a chuir a cbuideachdaan air bhoile. Thug an grentaich i gu thigh 's thubhairt e rithe, •' nach robh aige-ian acb bothan bochd, ach pu 'm faigheadb i a cuid dhe na bh' ann." An ceann latha na dha 'na dhiiigb so, thainig triiiir fhlcasgach uaaal gu tigh a ghreusaiche, airson brbgan a dhcanamh dhoibh, 's an righ air tigliinn dhachaidh, agus • 'dol a phöaadh. Ach »nil do 'n d' thug na fleugalch, chnnnaic lad nighean an fliamhair, 's ma chunnaic, cha 'n fhac lad riamh u: со böidheiich rilhe. "'S ann agad a tha 'n nighean bhbidbeach an so," thubhairt na fleaagaichria a ghreusaiche. " Ach cha 'n e mo nighun-sa tir ann." " Nhile I" arsa fear dhinbb, "l>h«rinn fi'în ceùd punnd air son a phudh." Thubhairt an dlthU eile a leirhid chendna. Thubhairt an grcutaiche bochd, "nach robh gnothuch aige'San ri a dhitaianih rilhe." " Ach," ars' iadsan, " farraid thnsa dhi'.li 'n nochd. agus lelg fins thngainne 'maireach." Nuair a dh' fhalbh na h'-naislean, dh' fharraid 1 do'n ghreusaiche, "gn dd •ud a bha ind ag radh mu 'm dhelbhinnse ?" Dh' Innisan greusaiche dhith. " Falbh 'nan d¿igh," an' ite, " posnidli ml fear аса a nochd ¡fin, '» thugadh e leis a sporan airgid." Dh' fhalbh an greusaiche 'nandclgh, 's dh' innise'n sin fein. Thill e'n t-bganach. Thugeceud punnd do 'n ghreusaiche, air-*on tochar. " Chaidh i a I nid he, agns an nair a bha aodach an iiçinaich dheth, dh' iarr i air deoch nispe as a chorn a bha air • Mihrd air taobh thall an t-seomair ; dh' fhalbh e, ach a« a' lio cha d'thigtadh • fad na h'-oidhche, il graim aig air aq

40 WEST IIiam.AND TALES.

t-soitlieoch uisge." Oglaich tlui. Tliubliairt ¡se, " cairíoii nach dig thu a luidlie," ach as а' во chadiongadh c, gus an robh an lui ha geal am maireach aim. Thninig an greusaiche gu liorus an t-sebmair, ague dh' ¡urr i air, "an slaodaire ballaich sin a thabhairt air faibli." Dh' fhalbh an >uiriche so, 's thug 'e 'n tigh air, ach cha do dh' innis e mar dh' ¿¡rich dha do 'n dithU eile. Air an ath oidbche, thainig an dama UVasgach, agus air an doigh cheudna nuair a chaidh i a luidhe, " Scull," thuirt ise, " am bheil an crunn air an dorus." Air a chrann ghabli a lamban gri:im, agus os a' sin cha d' thigeadh e fad na h-oidhche, as a' so cha d' tbigeadh в gu latha gcal am maireach. Dh' fhalbh e ta sprochd is nuire. Cuma codhiu, cha d'innis e, mar tbachair, do 'n fhlcusgach eile, agus air an t reas oidbche, thainig am fear eile, agua mar a thachair do 'n d il his eile thachair dha ; bha cas air an leabaidh 's coa eile air an urlar, cha d'thigeadh 's cha racliadh e, ach, air an dbigh so bha e fad na hVidhche. Am maireach thug e 'bhuinn as, 's cha 'n fhacaa e' sealltainn 'na dhúigh. " Nie," arsa 'n nighean ris a ghreusaiche, " 's leatsa an sporan bir, cha 'n'eil feum agam-saair, 's feàird thus' e, agus cha mhios'ile mls'e, airson do chaoimlineis dhomh." 13ha na brbgan ullainh aig a ghreusuiclio, agu» »ir an latha ein (Vin, bha an righ gu posadh. llha 'n grcusaicho dol do 'n chaisteal le brùgun nan bganach, '» thubhuirt an nighean ris a ghreusaiche, "bu mhaith К uni sealladh fliuicinn dite mac an righ, mu 'm pbsadh в." " Thig leamsa," ars' an gn-usaiche, " tha mi mil/il eblach air eeirbheUich a' chuUteuil, agus glieibh (lui sealladh air mac an г!цЬ 's na cuideachd uile." Agi» a nimir a chunnaic na h-uaislean am boireannach bbidheach a bha 'n so, thug iad i do shebmar na baiunse, agus libn iad gloinne Поп dlii. 'Nuair a bha ¡' dol a dh' bl na bha sa ghloinne, cbuidh lasair suas aisle, agus leum caïman 6ir 's caïman airgid os a' ghlninne. Bha iad ag itealaich mu 'n cuairt, 'nuair a limit tri glirinnnean ebrna air an urlar. Leum an caïman airgiod, agus ithear sud. Thubbairt an caïman bir ris, nu'in biudh cuimhn' agad 'nuair a chain, mi 'm bùthaidi, сил 'м 'ITHKADII TU SIM» «их CHUID A TIIOIRT DIIOMIIS'A. A rithist thuit tri grainnean corn' eile, 's leum an caïman airgiod ague ithear siud mar an ceudna. "Na'm bilheadh cuimhn' agad 'nuair a thubh mi 'm bathaich CHA 'N ITIIRADII TU sum, GUN »ID опию л TiioiHT DHOMIISA," ars' an calnmn ùir. Tuitear tri ghra innean eile, s leum an caïman airgiod, ligua il heur aiud cuideachd. " Na 'm biodh cuiiubu' agad 'nuair a chreach mi nead na pioghaid, сил 'N'ITIIKAUII TU BIUD ou» uo спим» А тношг DIIUMIISA," ars' an caïman blr. " Chaill ml 'n liidag 'gad' thabbalrt a nua«, agus tha i dli'itU orm fathast." Chuimhnicli mac an righ, 's dh' altbnich

СЛТН NAN BUN. 47

« со а ЫГ lige. Leum e far an robb i, 's phog ei Ыю Ihimh pu i béni, ago» a nuair a thainig an sagairt, phbs lad an dama b-oair 11 Agns dh' f hag mil' an lin lad.

HECTOR UBQUHABT.

2. There is another verdión of this tale current in I«lay. It wai taken down from the recitation of Ann Darroch by Hector Maclean. It i» called the " Widow'i Son." Ые goes to seek hi» fortune, and comei to a giant's house, where he engnges himself as я servant for a peck of gold and a peck of »il ver. He is sent first to cleanse the seven byres that Ьате петег been cleansed Tor seven years. All he puts out at one door comes in at the. other. The giant's daughter conies ; he promises to marry her, and she says, " Unthcr, oh shovel, and put out, oh grape," and the tools work of themselves, and clear the hy roe. Next he has to thatch the byres with feathers, no quills to be upwards. He gets only one feather, and the giant's daughter takes three grains of barley, and throws them on the roof. The birds of the air gather, and thatch the byres in a minute. Next day he bas to catch the steed that hsd never seen a blink of earth or air. The girl gives him a little rusty bridle, and the steed conies and put» her head into it. She makes six little cakes, which she places at the fire, the foot water, the door of the chamber, the side of the bed, and the kitchen door, and they mount the steed and ride "IT. The giant lies down and calls to his daughter. The cakes answer, till there are none left to reply. Then he rises, takes his clothes, his boots, and his sword of light ; he makes seven miles at each step ; he sees seven miles by the light of the sword—he follows ; they hear him coming ; the girl gives the widow's son a golden apple, and tells him to throw it at a mole on her father, where alone he i« vulnerable ; he fears that he will rnisn so small a mark, so she throws it herself, and the giant is dead in an instant.

They reach a big town. He is told to kiss nothing, or be will forget the girl and hi« promise. Л big dug comes to meet him, and puts his paws on hii shoulder and kisses him. He takes service with the king, and at last he is to be married to the king's daughter.

She Ukes service with • smith, disguised as a man, and

40 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

" comes on famously " The emitli'e daughter fallí in love with her, and wanU to marry her. She tells, at laut, that aho il a girl in search of her own lover, un a day of dayi the smith and hii daughter and his serrant are invited to the wedding of the widow's son with the king's daughter. They go, and the giant's daughter sets a golden cock and a surer hen on the board before the bridegroom. She takes a grain of barley from her pocket and throws it before them. The cock pecks the ben aud eats the barley ; and the hen says, " Oog, Oog, if thou hadst mind when I cleansed the seven byres for tliee, thou wouldst not do that to me." She does this three times, and the birds remind him of what has been done ; then he knows her, leaps over the board, catches her by the arm, leaves the king's daughter, and marries her.

3. There is another version current at Inverary, repeated to roo by a stable boy who was then employed at the ferry of St. Katharines, and whu repeated it in Giu-lic while rowing the boat to Inverary. It began thus :—1 will lull you a story about the wren. There wns once a farmer who was seeking a servant, and the wren met him, and he said, " What art thou seeking for '/'' "I am seeking a servant," said the farmer. " Wilt thou take me?" said the wren. "Thee, thou poor little creature ; what good wouldst thon do?" "Try thou me," said the wren, Bo he engaged him, and the first work he set him to was thresh- ing in the barn. The wren threshed (what did he thresh with ? —a flail to bo sure), and he knocked olT one grain. A mouse camo out and she eats that. " I '11 praise thcu, and don't do that again," said the wren. He struck again, and he knocked off two grains. Out came the mouse and she eats that. So they arranged a contest that they might know which was strongest, and there was neither mouse nor rat on earth that did not gather, nor was there bird under heaven that did not come to the battle. Tho son of a gentleman heard of the fight, and he came also, hut he slept before it was over, and when he awoke there woe neither " mouse nor rat to be seen ; there was but one great bluck raven." The raven and the man agree to travel together, and they come to an inn. Tho gentleman goes in, but the raven is sent to the stable, because the porters and waiters object to the like of a

THE BATTLE OF ТПК DIRDS. 49

raren. Here be pick« out all the Ьогмв' eyes, and in the morning there is a disturbance. The gentlcmnn pays and scolds, and tlioy go to another inn, whore the raven is sent to the byre, and picks out all the cows' eyes. Then they part. The raven takes out a hook, and gives it to his companion with a warning not to open it till he gets home to his lather's honse. He breaks the charge, looks, and finds himself in a giant's house. There he takes service, and is sent to clean the byre. It had seven doors, it bad not been cleaned for seven years, and all that he put out at one door came in at the other. Then came the giant's red- haired daughter, and said, " If thon wilt marry me I will help thee." lie consents ; and she Mts all the grapes and forks about the place to work of themselves, and the byre is cleansed. Thcn^ho giant icti him to thatch the byre with feathers, and every inther he put on the wind blew away. Then came the giant's girl, and the promise was repeated ; and she played a whintle that she had, and he laid his head in her lap, and every bird there was came, and they thatched the byre.

Then the giant sent him to the hill to fetch the gray horse that was seven years old ; and she told him that he would meet two black dogs, and she gave him a cake of tallow and half a cheese, and a tether ; and she said that the dogs and the horn would kill him unless he gave the dogs the food, and put the tether on the horse. When the dogs ran at him, he put the tallow in the mouth of one, and the cheese in the throat of the other ; and when the horse came down the hill to kill him with his month open, he put the tether in his mouth and he followed him quietly home. " Now," said she, " we will be off.1' So they mounted and rode away, but first she took four apples, three she placed about the house, which spoke as in the other tales, the fourth she took with her. When the last of the apples had spoken, the giant rose and followed. Then the girl felt her father's breath on her back, and said, " Search in the horse's ear." And he found a twig. " Throw it behind yon," said she; and he threw it, and it became the biggest wood that ever wai. The giant came, and returned for his " big aze and his little axe," and he hewed his way through ; and the red-haired girl said that she felt her father's breath. " Now," said she to the king's son (hero the narrator remembered that he was a prince instead

4* WEST HIGHLAND TALKS.

« chois ro'i'n ghrein. Gblac e a bhoght '« a bhalg-saighead a mharbh- »illi nan èun. Thug e 'in monadh air, ach ma thug, cha robb na h- i'iiiii cbo furaada ri 'm faoUiun. Bha e a ruith 'nan dc'igh, gue an robb am fallus 'ga 'dhalladh. Mu nibeadlion-la со 'thigeadh ach nighean an fh.imhatr. "Tha thu ga'd'phianadh, a mhic an righ," are1 ise. "Tha mi," tbubbuirt esun, "cha do (huit ach an du lon- dubh au, agus ¡ad air aon il.uh." " Tuig a nail, '» leig do agios air a Синими bhbidheath so," ana nighean an f ham hair. " 'S mi lha toil» each," thubhairt rsmi. Smaoinicli e gu n cobhaircadli i air uir un uni a» cuiilcachil. Sliuidho »'IDS I'uinili rithe, 'a cha b'f had1 a bhu e 'n »in gu> un do (huit e 'nu chadal ; agua a intuir a dhiiisg o, bha nighean an fhamhuir air fulbh. Smaoinicli e tilleadli thun an tighe, 'e fak-eiir am bathaich tughte leis na b-itean. 'Nuair a thainig am famhair dhachaidh thubhairt e, "Thubh thu 'in bathaich, a mhic an nb'h." "Thubh mi," are' esan. "Thubh cuid-eiginn i," ara' am famhair. "Cha do thubh t h usa i," агаа mac an righ. "Seadb! Seadh!" ars' am faiuluir. "'Nis," arg' am famhair, "tlia craobh gliiubbas ri taobh an loch ud shios agua tita nead pioghaid 'na mullach." " Na h-uibhean a gheibh thu anus an nead, feumaidh iad a bhi agamsa gu mo clieud-Lm, gaidh; cha 'u fltùod a h-aon a bhith igttiute 110 Ы¡ate, agua 's e cùig a thu 'san nead." Moch 'на mhad- iiinii, dh'f h.illih mac an righ fur an robh a chraobh, 's cha robb ein duilich unías oirre. Cha robh a leith-bhreuc '.-u choill' air fad. Bho 'bann gu ruig а ceud mheunglan, cbig ceud troidh. Bha mac an righ k dol ccithir thoimcliioll air a chraoibh. Tbainig úe 'bita daonnan ik lU'uiiiiuili furtachd dlia: " l'ha thu air call cruiceann nan liinili '» пап caá, а mhic an rlgh." "Ach tha," are' cean, "cha luaithe ahuas na nh'ins mi." "Cha 'n a' fuireachd ao," arsa nighean an f hamhair. Shitth i' meur an dc:igh tueur, gin un d' rinn i furadli do mltac an righ gu dol aua> do nead na pioghaid. 'Nuair а bha e aig an nead, thubhairt ¡se, " Ucan cabhag a nuoa leis na h-uibheam, oir tha uiiuil m' udiar a' loagodh mo dhroina." LeU a chabhuig a hit' air-san, dh' fhag ise Tudag am inulUch na craoibhe. "NU," ars' ¡se, "théid thu dhachaidh leia na h-uibhean gu luath, agus gheibh thu mise ri pliogadh a nochd ma dh'uitliniclieoa tu mi; bithidh mis' agus mo dha phiutliar air ar n-cideuilli anna an aon trttsgan, agus air аг dcunainh coltach ri' clidile; Ach seall thus' onusu 'ntiair a their ni' athuir 'fulbh le d' inhnaoi, a mhic an righ ; agus chl thu liiimh gun ludag." Tltug e na h-uibhcan do'n flianihuir. "Scailh 1 Scadh I" ars' am famhair, " bi' doanamh deas chum do phbsadh." 'S aim an ain a blia blianais, 's b'e Limitáis i, famhaireun '» Лло\п(. uaisle, 'e mac rígli na Cathair uaine 'uum meadhou. Chaidh am poaadlt, 's

СЛТИ NAN Eli N. 43

thóisich an dhmluui, '* b'e «in an damhaa. Bha tigh an f himhalr air chrlth bho 'mbullach gn 'bhonn. Ach thainig km dol a luidhe, 's thubhalrt am fumlinir, " Tlia 'n t-am dbuit dol a luidhe, a nihic rtgh na cathalr slriomain, thoir leat do blienn a> am meadhon sin." Chair Ite mach a lahnh dheth 'n robb an Ibdag agu» rag e oirre air lliinih. " Dir amala (Im gu niiiilli air un am во cuidoachd, aih cha 'n'eit (ios nach coinnich »Inn thu air dfiipli eile," thiibhiilrt am famhair. Acb a luidbe chaitlh lad. "Anís," thulrt i«e; "cadal cha dfcan thu, air neo bh«alcbidb tu ; feumaldh «inn teicheadh gu Inatli, oir gun teag- ainh marbhildh m' athair thu." A mach ghabh iad, ago« air an loth dbulnn a bha inns an stabull, chaidh lad. " Dean aocair beagan," an' is«, "aguí cluichidh min cicas air an t-seann laoch." Leum i ftigli, agus gheurr 1 nbball 'rm naoi eantnnan, '» chuir i tlh car ran n dhitli aig ceann na Icnpn, ague da cnrrnnn aig casan na leapa; dh earrann tig an dorus-chadha, ague dh earnnn alg an doras nilti>r, agos a h-aon air taobh a mach an tlghe. Dbhing am famhair, agus ghlaodh e, "'M bheil sililmo 'nur cadal." " Cba 'n 'eil fathast," an' an nbball a bha aig ceann na leapa. An ecann ghreis gblaodh e rithist, " Cha 'n 'eil fatha.it," ara' an ubhall a bha aig casan na leapa. Greia an dcjgh sin, ghlaodh e rithiat, "Cba 'n 'eil fathant," thubhairt an obhal aig dorns a cbadba. Ghlaodh am fnmhair a ritliist, 'a f hreagalr an ubbal a bba aig an dorm rahbr. " Tim sihli a' dol ni's faide unm," ara' am famhair. " Cba 'n 'eil fathaat," ara' an ubhal a bha air laobh a mach an doruta. "Tlia sibh a teichadh," an' am famhair. Leum am famhair air в chaian, agu* gu ruig an leabaldh chaidh e; ach bha I gn fiiar, fhs, " Tha cuilbheartan mo nighean fein a feuchainn rinm," thubhairt am famhair. Air an loir ghabh e," An beul an latha, thuirt nlghean an f hamhalr, " U u 'n robb, anall a h-'atliair a loagadh a droma." "Cuir do lamh gn limtli," ars' ise, "aim an cluain na loi h dhuinn, agns ge be ni gheibh Ihn innte tilg 'na d' dh^igh e." " Tha bior do agilheach an so," thubhairt e«:m. "Tilg äs de dbelgh e." Cha luaithe rinn e so, na bha flehend mile do sgithe»ch cho tiugh ann 's gum bu ghann do neas dol troimhe. Thainigam fambnir 'na dhian 'ssiude'ncoinnemnh a i liinn 'a amhach anns an sgitheoch 11 " Tha cuilbheartan mo nighean n;in an so mär an ceudiia," tlnibliairt am famhair; "ach na 'm biodh ogamsa mo tliuagb mhhr 'a mo chore cimillo an so, cha )>' fhad' a bhithinn a d^anamh ralbad troimhe so." Thill e dhach- aldh air son na tnaidh mbire 's na core cboille, agus gun Uagamh cha robb e fud a' df^ammh ralbad troi "n «gilheach. "Fkgaidh mi 'n tuadh 's a chore cboille 'n so, gus am till mi," ara' esan. " HA DH' гнлода, tbuirt feannsg a bha ann an craobh," goididh

44 WEST 111(1111,AND TALKS.

sinne lad." "Ni íiblí ein fhc'in," a«' am famhair, "acb cuiriilli mise dhachaidh ind." 'Iliill e agus dh' fhag e iad aig an tigli. Annan teas an latlia mhothairh ¡9 anail ali'athar alosgadh ailroma. "Cuir do «ill.Mir aim an cluais na lutlia, agua tilg па gheibh tlm innte as do dbeigh." Fhuair e sgealb do chUih ghlais 's thilj; e as a dbaigh i. Ann am prioba na aula, bha Gchead mile do cbreac mhbr gblas air leud '» air hinle as an déi^h. Thainig am fanilinr 'na dhcann, ach seachad air a* chrcag cha robb comas dha tlol. " 'Se cuilhhearlan mo nigbinn tVui nul us cruaidli' a thuchuir rianih riiini," are' am famhair. "Ach na 'm bioilh agamsa mo ghcaniblag 'a mo mhatag m h or, cba b' fliaila a bliithinn a dcannmh ratliad roimh 'n chreig so cuideachd." B'fhendar tilleadh air an sou, agus b'e fein gille agoltadh nan clach. Cha robb e fada a dcanamh nitlind ire,lililí 'n chreag. " Fugaidh mi an nefbuinn an so, 's cha thill ml tuUlidh." " AU DM' HHOAS," are' an fheannag, "goididh sinn' lud." "Tba «in '» a roghainn agad; cha 'n'cil tumi tilleadh aun." Ann am briste>dh na fuira thubhairt nigheaii an fliamhair, "gu'n robh i mothachalnn anail a h-athar a lopgadh a druina." " Seal) unit an chmis na lutha, a mliic an ri^h, air neo ilia sinn cailte." Kinn e во, agus 's e antroman Ihn uisge a bba 'na cluais air an am so. " Tilg 'na d' dh<í¡nh e," ana nigbeun an fliamhair. Rinn e so, agus bha loch uisge flehend mïle air fad 'a air leud 'nan ddigh. Thainig am famhair air aghaidh, ach leis an astur a bh' aige, bha e ann am meadholn an loch, agus chaidli e foidhe, 's cha d' e'irícb e ni's mo. Air an ath latha, bha a chuideacbd 6g air tighinn am fradharc tigh alhar-san. "Ni-,." are' ise, "ilia m'athair b'uite, 's cha chuir e dragh tuillidh tirn ; " Ach mu 'n d'théid sinn ni 's faidc," ars' ise, "räch thusa gu ti^b t'athar, agus innis gu 'bheil mo leilbid-sa agad ; ach am bonn a tha agad ri 'dlieunanib, na leig le duine na creutalr do phogadh ; oir ma ni tlm sin, chit bhi ciiimlin' agad gu 'faca tu riamh mi." Chuir gach neach mar a bha tachairt air fitilte is furan air, 's thug e aithne d'à athair 's d'à mhhthair, gun esan a phogadh ; ach mar a bha 'n tubaist 'an dhn, bha sean mhial-chù do phalla 'steach 's dh' aithnich i e, 's leum i suas ri bheul, agus Da dhcägh sin dhi-chuimhnich e nighean an fliamhair. Bha ise 'na mi 11 ID aig laobh an tobair mar a dh' fhag e i, ach cha robh mac an righ a' tigbinn. Ann am bcul na b-oidhche, streap i suas ann an craobh do dharach a bba ri taobli an tobair. Luidh i ami an gobhall na cruollihe fad na h'oidhche sin. lllia tigh aig greus- uicliB dllith do 'n tobar, agus inu mheadhon lit a' mhireach, dh' iarr an greusaich air a mhnaol, 1 'dhol itirson deoch dha as an tobar. 'Muair a raiuig bean a ghreusaicbe an tobar, 's a chunnaic i

СДТН NAN EUN. 45

faiteas na t¿ « bha anns a chraoibh, air saoilsinn dh'ise pu 'in b'e 'faileas fi:in а ЫГ nnn ('s cha do shaoil leatba gu so gu 'n robh i со brèagha), tbug 1 tilgeil do'n chuman a bba 'na Ihirnh, 's bhrist i ria an talamh e, 's thug i 'n tigh oirre gun chuinneng gun uùge I "Call1 am bheil an t-iiiagc, a bliean," thubhairt an grcusaiche. "A bhodairh Icibiilich, sliuaraicli, gun mbaira, db' Лит mi lililí.lh 's fada 'n am thrbill uiiigo 'a connaidh agad." "Tba ml ftfin a smaolneachadh, a bhean, gu'n deach thu air bhoile ; falbh tliusa a nighean, gu luaili 's falgh deoch do d' alhair. Oh' fhalbh a nighean, agus air an dbigh cheudoa thachair dhi. Chm do ahaoil leatba gu so gu 'n robh 1 со tlachdmhor, 's thug i 'n tigh olrre. "Nios an deoch," ara' a h-athalr. "A pheallaig bhodaich nam Ьгбр, an saoil thu gu 'bheil mise RU bhi 'm thrnill uisge agad." Smaoinich an grensalcho bochd gu 'n d' thug lad car as am bcachd, 'a 'lh 'fhalbh e frfin do 'n tobar. (.'Immune e fulleas na gruagaiche san tobar, 's illi' amhairc e suas do 'n chrooibh 's faicear am bnlríonnach bu bhreagha a chnnnaic e riamh. " '3 corrach do »huidheucban ach 's maiseach do ghnliis," thubbairt an greusaiche. " Thig a nuas oir, i lia ffinn illniit, car bine ghearr 'nam thigh-sa." Tbnig an greusaiche gu'm b'e so am faiteas a cbuir a cbuideachdsan air bhoile. Thug an greusaich i gu thigh 's thubhairt e rithe, "nach robh aigc-tan ach bothan bochd, ach gu 'm faigheadh i a cuid dhe na ЫГ лип." An ceann latha na (Iba 'na dhe'igh to, Iháinig triiiir fhleosgach uasal gn tigh a ghreusaicho, airson brfigín a dhcanamh dhoibh, 's an rtgh air tighinn dhachaidh, agus e 'dol a phosadh. Ach sbil do 'n d' thug na fleasgaich, chnnnalo lad nighean an fliamhair, 's ma chunnaic, cha 'n fhao lad riamh té со böldheacb rithe. " 'S ann agad a tha 'n nighean bbbidheacb an so," thubbairt na fleasgaich ris a ghreusalcbe. " Ach cha 'n в то nighean-sa th' ano." "Nailel" arsa fear dhiubb, "bheirlnn fi:in cebd punnd air son a pbsadh." Thubhairt an dithb eile a leiihid chcudna. Thubhairt an greusaiche bochd, "nach robh gnothuch aige-san ri a dh/ananih rithe.* " Ach," ara' iadsan, " farraid thnaa dhi'.h 'n nocbd, agua leig fins thugainne 'maireach." Nuair a dh' flialbh na h'-uaislean, dh' fharraid l do'n ghreusaicbe, "gu d< sod a bim lud ag radh mu 'm dheibhinnse?" Dh' innisan greusaiche illnth. •• Fnlbh 'nan ddigh," an' ist, "posaidh mi fear аса a nocbd fein, '• thugadh e Ici« a sporan airgid." Dh' fhalbh an greusaiche 'nandclgh,'s db'innise'n sinfein. Tbill e'n t-bganacb. Thugeceud punnd do'n ghreusaiche, air-son tochar. "Chaidh ialnidhe,agnsan uair a bha aodach an öcanaich dheth, db' larr i air deoch niage as a chora a bha air a bbord air taobh thail an t-seomair ; dh' fhalbh «v ach as a' sin cha d' thigtadh l fad na h'-oidhche, is grelm aig air aq

54 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

and they did that. The giant went away with him, and he had a rod in his hand, and when they were a little bit from the house, the giant aaked the couk'i ton—' What would thy father do with this little rod if he had it?' 'I don't know myself, 'laid the cook '• •on, ' unless he would beat the dogs away from the meat.' With that the giant understood that he had not got the right one, and lie turned hack with him, and he asked that the king's son should l>c sent to him. Then they put brave clothes on the son of the HTIUARD, and they sent him out to the giant, but the giant wag not long till he did to him as ho had done to the cook's son, and he returned with him full of heavy wrath. He said to them, unless they sent out to him there the king's son, thnt the highest «tone in the castle would be the lowest presently, and that he would kill all who were within ; and then they were obliged to »end out the king's son himself, though it was very grievous ; and the giant went away with him. When they were gone a little bit from the castle, the giant showed him the rod that was in his hand and he said—' What would thy father do with this rod if he were to have it?' And the king's son said—' Mr father has a braver rod than that.' And the giant asked him—' Where will thy father be when he has that brave (briagh) rod?' And the king's son said—' He will be sitting in his kingly chair ; ' and the giant understood that he had the right one. [ Thit peutage it tranilal'J entire, became, 03 1 am told, títere it a timilar pattaye in tlie VoUuny tale]. The giant took him home, and set him to clean the byre that had not been cleansed for seven years ; and in vase of failure, threatened SE'T тип. LEAR ALUIN OIIKIKN л

lililí II и ЛИНИ Л CHASOA H' IOTADH AOD8 T' FIIEO1L UR OIIRINN МАИ

Mllll.l.lnrAIN FIIIAOAL. It IS thy frrsll gOOdl)' bclllltil'nl blond I

will have quenching my thirst, and thy fresh, beautiful fleeh as sweetening of teeth ; " and he went to bed.

The king's son failed of course ; all that went out at one door came in at another. Then came MAKI RUADH, Auburn Mary, ihu giant's daughter, and made him promise to ninrry her, und ho gavo his hand and his promise. She made him sut nil the илнч. and shovels in order, waived her hand, and they worked alone, and cleaned the byre. " She took ни apple from her pocket—a golden apple—and it would run from end to end, and would raise no stain in any place, it was so clean."

THE BATTLE OF THE ВШШ. 5 5

The daughter " had been in sewing all day," when her father саше borne from hunting, and asked hie housewife. Next came the thatching of the barn with " the feathers of all the birds the ginnt had over killed, to be laid aa close as ever they lay on the back of a heather hen or a black cock." The wind blew them away as fast as he put them on. The daughter cemn, and after a new promise, " OIIATHDDII," she shook them ы chaff (il shaken on hill tops now), with the wind, and the wind blew them straight to their own place. The giant came home from his hunting as asnal, and asked—" Housewife, wu Auburn Mary out at all today?" " No, she was within sewing." He went out, and brought in SRIAH BiiitiAoii SIIUILBIB DEARIUACH, а Ьгате, clear, shiny bridle, and ordered the king's son to catch the KAI.AIRE, filly, on yonder hill, and tie her in the stable, or clip, &c.

The fine bridle would not do. Then the daughter brought from the stable, SFAN SRIAN пивн MEIROACH, an old, black, rusty bridle that was behind one of the turf seats, and shook it, and the filly cam« and put her nose into it.

The giant had the usual talk, but gave no more orders, and his daughter told the king's son that he would kill him that night, but that she would save him if ho would promise to marry her.

" She put a wooden bench in the bed of the king's son ; two wooden benches in her own bed. She spat at the front of her own bed, and spat at the side of th« giant's bed, and spat at the pannage door, and she set two apples above the giant's bed, ready to fall on him when he should wake and set him asleep again." And they mounted and rode away, and set the filly " running with might." «-

The giant awoke, and shouted—" Rise, daughter, and bring ^ > me a drink of the blood of the king's son." " I will arise," said '« I.' - the spittle, in front of his bed ; and one of the apples fell and struck ' i him between the two shoulders, and he slept. The second time Г ' it wan—" Rise, wife ; " and the same thing happened. The third time he shouted—" Art thon rising to give me a drink of the blood ^/

of the king's son. Oh wife ? " " Coming with it, " said the spittle, " behind the door of the cabh."

Then be Isy a while, and got up with an axe, and struck it into the bench in the bod of the king's son. [So did a giant to Jack the giant-killer, and so did Skrymir to Thorr in Gj Ifi's mock-

56 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

ing. Edda (translnted by O. W. Daeent, page 54.) j And when he saw what he had, he ran to hia daughter's bed, and struck his axe into the two tilings which he found there. Then he ran into the stable, and then he ran after the fugitives. At the mouth of day, the daughter said—" I feel my father's breath burning me between the two shoulders ; " and the king's son took a drop of water from the filly's right ear, and threw it over hia shoulder, iiml it became a lake which the giant could not cross. Then he said—This ¡s a part of my own daughter's tricks ; and he called

OUt, ПНЕ РАЖИ А ЫНЛК1 BlUDII AOUB ИА Til U O UI8B DHUIT8A DO Da' FlfOLClI AOD8 ПО lOHHSACHADII N' К SO UAH A BINN TIIU ООН

MA OHEIBEADH. " Fcere Faire, Auburn Mary, and all the learning and teaching I have given thee, is it thus thou hast done to me at lost ?" And, said she, CHAH EILE AOUD лис ACU A »ni NAS OLIO A KiTiiisn. " Thou host for it but to be wiser again." Then he said, if I had uo BHATA DUBH DIONACU FIIEIS NACH FACA OAOTII HA OUIAH о CUEAN BEACiio BLiADHNA. My own tight black boat that saw neither wind nor rain since seven years' end. And his daughter said—" Thou hast for it but to go fetch her then."

Next time it was a little atone that was found in the left ear which became a great crag, and was broken through with the big hammer and the little hammer OBD unit AOI» они ВЕАО, which broke and pounded a breach through the rock in an instant by themselves. The third time it was the seed of a tree which became а wood, aid was cut through by the axes TUATHAN of the giant, which he set to work, and his wife brought up the black dogs.

The fourth time it woa a very little tiny drop of water that was found in the left ear, which became a narrow loch, but so deep that the giant could not cross it. He had the usual talk with hie daughter, and got the same reply ; tried to drink the water, but failed, for a curious reason, then he thought he would leap it, but his foot slipped and he was drowned.

Then came the incident of the kiss and the old greyhound.

She went to the bouse of a sempstress, and engaged herself, and was a good workwoman. When the king's son was to bo married to another, the cook sent one of his underlings to the well for water. She stood on a branch of a tree above the FUABAN cold apring, and when the maid saw her shadow in the well she thought she had grown golden herself, for there was " golden

THE BATTLE OF THE BIRDS. 57

weaving" on the dreas of Auburn Mary. And she went back to the cook and aaid : " Thou art the lad to send me to fetch thee water, and I am a lump of gold." She sent another, with the same remit, so he went himself and saw Mary go to the house of the sempstress. The cook told, and they asked about the stranger, but no one knew anything about her, till the hen wife went to tho seamstress and found oat " that she had come from a shore afar off ; that she never saw her like for sewing nor for shape, and that if they had her at the wedding, she would make FF.AKTAN miracles that would astonish them."

The hen wife told the queen, and she was engaged to help to make the dresses. They were pleased with her, and asked her to tho wedding, and when there they asked her to show some of her wonderful tricks.

" Then she got a pock, and showed that it was empty ; and she gave it a shake, and it grew thick, and she put in her hand and .и.ik out a silver hen, and she set it on the ground, and it rose and walked about the house. Then came the golden cock, and the grain of corn, and the pecking, and the hen said—

" Leig ma choir learn, Ma chuid do n' eorna.

Leare me my right, my share of the corn ; and the cock pecked her ; and she stood out from him, and said—

Qeog Qeog Oeöa. A'n cnimhne leat an lath» Chnir mi m' bathacb fularuh Air do shon ?

'S an cuimhne leat an latha A thnbh mi n' Sabbal Air do shon ?

'S an cuimhno lent an latha Gblac mi n'fhailair Air do shon ?

'S an cuimhne leat an latha Bhath mi m'athair Air do shon ?

Qeog Ueog Qeoa. Dost thon remember the day that I emptied the byre for thee ?

Dost them remember the day that I thatched the barn for thee ?

Dont thon remember the day that 1 caught the filly for the« ?

Dost tbou remember the day that I drowned my father for tliee ?

Then the king's son thought a little and be remembered Auburn Mary, and all she had done for him, and he asked a voice

Jo WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

with her Apart, and they bad a little talk, and «be told the king and tbe queen, and be (bund the "gin " kin good, and be turned lúa back on tbe other one, and be married Auburn Mary, and they m.ido a wediling that lasted seven yean ; and tbe last day was no worse than tbe tiret day—

S'ma bha na b'fbearr aun, bba, S'mar robh leig da

And if there were better there were, And if not, let them be.

The tale ii ended. Tha crioch air 'n sgeul.

Tbii version is probably the oldest. It is the most pio- turesque ; it contains nearly all that is in the others, and it is full of the quaint expressions which characterize the telling of Qaelic tales. Tbe quarrel is remarkably like a fable aimed at the greedy eaille monte and the sturdy country wren, a fable from the country side, fur the birds beat the beast* of the plain, the raven beat tbe snake.

8. I have still another version, told by Roderick Mackenzie, sawyer, Qairlocb, and written by Hector Urquhart. It is called, NIUIIKAN DOBH QHEAL DBABO, The daughter of Black-white Red.

Three sons of the king of Erin were on a day playing shinny on a strand, and they saw birds whose like they had never seen, and one especially. Their father told them that this was MAO SAUHLADU NIUIIINN Dunu QIIIAL DKABO, and the eldest son said that he would never rest till he got the great beautiful bird for himself. Then his father sent him to the kiug of France (MA FBAIXOE), and he struck palm on latch, and it was asked who it was, and he said that it was tbe son of Erin's king, going to seek the daughter of Black-white Red. He was entertained, and next day set off to the king of Spain (NA SPAIN»»:), and did the same ; and thence he went to the king of Italy (НА 'лКл пил ). He gave him an old man, BODACH, and a green boat, and they sailed (and here comes in a bit of the passage which is common to so many stories about hoisting the sails, etc., with one or two lines that I have found nowhere else, and here the three kings seem to replace the three old women, who are always appearing, lor

THE BATTLE OF THE BIRDS. 59

they know where the lad ii going ami help bim on). The old тяп sailed the boat on shore, and op to tho door of Black-white Red, a giant, who ai usual said Fio FA FOAORAICFI, and threatened to make я shinny ball of his head, and eat him unless he performed tito tasks set him. The giant's eldest daughter came end he knew her at once, and they played at cards all night. Rhe gave him a tether to catch the little dun shaggy filly, which be would lose unless he put it on tho first time.

Next he had to kill, Тлнпп нов ял ТАЯГСН, the great ball of the cattle, (or perhaps of the earth, TAX). The daughter gare him her father's BOOMA SAIOHEAD, arrow bow, with which he pushed at the bull, and he followed bim. He put the big black arrow in his forehead when be got to the bouse.

The third task WAS to cleanse the great byre of the seven stalls that had not been cleansed for seven years, or bis head to be a football. The daughter came at night as usual and gave him ВАКА ague СНОПАМ, a barrow and a crook, and told him to say CAB CAB л CHROMAIS, OUÏR AIR A МИНА л SHLDABAID, гпк л MACH л ПИАНА, and the tools worked of themselves.

Then be had three more tasks set. The three daughters put three needles through throe holes in a partition, he caught the one without " CIIRO."(?) They put out three great pins, and he caught tho one that had two " Pnuxi " heads. Then they pushed out their little fingers, and he took the one with, CAB AI AM ЮИОА, a notch in the nail.

" Hub I huh I" said the giant, " thou hast her now, but to Erin thou goest not ; thou must stay with me.'' At last they got tired of the giant's way of living, and set off together and pushed out the barge (BiRUxii). The giant awoke and asked, what was that sound? One of the daughters answered, that it was a

OIDCHB DAMIIASACB UK ТВ1Я-АПНА1В 'в ТА1ВЯЕЛЯАСП, Л fparful

night with heaven—fire and thunder. " It is well to be under the shelter of a rock," said the giant. The next scrape of the boat it was the same thing, and at the third the Ьагдо was ont and under sail, but the giant was on foot, and be threw A CIIEAHTLEADII DHUBH, bii black clue, and the boat nailed stern foremost. The giant sat down in the gravel to haul the boat, and the daughter shot an arrow, АН АИ вояя DUBU АЯ ГЯАМНАЛВ, into the giant's black sole, and there he lay.

60 WEST ШГ.Ш.ЛХП ТЛ1.ЕН.

Then the; got to Erin. He went home first ; ehe staid in the barge, till tirctl of waiting, she weut to • imith'a bouae where abe staid with the smith and hit mother.

One day the imith heard that the Hi DIE was going to be married, and told her. She aent him to the palace to tell the cook that the fitieit woman he ever law was living with him, and would marry him if he would Lriug her a part of the wedding fea*t.

The cook came, and when he saw her, brought a back load of viands. Then they played the «ame trick to the butler, and he brought a back load of wine every day. Then ehe asked the MU 11 li to make her a golden cock, and a surer hen ; and when he could not, she made them herself. Then she asked the butler if she could get a sight of the king's son and the bride, " and the butler was very much pleased that she had asked him, and not the cook, for he was much afraid that tbe cook was looking after her also.'' When the gentles saw her they asked her to the dancing room, and then came the cock and hen play, in which the lien said—Л сношен DUUKDANica DHUIBII, Thou black, murmuring cock, dost tbou remember, etc. The prince remembers, marries the true girl, " and there I left them."

This version varies considerably from the others. It is very well told, and I much regret that space will not allow me to give it entire, the more so because the reciter has braved the prejudices of some of his neighbours who object to all fiction. I hope I have aaid enough to show that this story is worth preservation.

If stories be mythological this containa a serpent. КАТИЛ IK, pronounced Na-ir, and a raven, FITIIK.ACII, pronounced feeach, who seem like transformed divinities, for they appear only to start the other characters, and then vanish into some undescribed kingdom. There is one passage (referred to) which resembles .'.M -•: mythology.

So far as I can make out, it seems to be best known near Cowal in Argyllshire, though it is known throughout the Highlands.

It would have been easy to construct one version from the eight here mentioned, but I have preferred to give the most complete, entire, and full abstracts of the rest. Many more versions can be got, and I shall be grateful to nny one who will throw light on the story and its origin.

ТПЕ BATTLE OF THE BIRDS. 6 I

One of the tasks resembles one of those imposed on Hercule«. Il might Imve been taken from classical mythology if it itood alone, but Norwegian peasants and Went Highlander! could not •o twist the etory of llórenle« into the ваше shape.

All the Gaelic venions are clearly version« of the same «tory ai the Master Maid, in Dasent's Norse Tales ; and there are other traits in other Norse stories, which resemble the Gaelic.

Of the forty-three heroes called Hercules, and mentioned in ancient lore, on«, at least, is said to have made long voyage« in the Atlantic beyond his own pillan. Another, or the same, was prevented from being present at the hunting of the Caledonian boar, having killed a man in " Calydo," which, by the way, is Gaelic for Ulack Forest. Another was an Indian, and this may be оно of the «amn clan.

If stories be distorted history of real events, seen through a haze of centuries, then the ginnts in this tale may be the same people u the Gruagach and his brother in the last. They aro here described a* a wise learned race, given to magic arts, yellow or auburn haired. (Килпн) possessing hones, and krowing bow to tame them—able to pat the water between them and their pursuers—able to sew better than the otben—better looking— musical—possessing treasure and bright weapon«—using king's ions of other race« as slave«, and threatening to eat them. If the raven wa« one, they were given to combing their own golden ringlets with gold and «ilver combs and the giant maidens dressed the hair of their loven who laid their heads in their laps, a« I have often seen black haired Lapland ladies dress the hair of Lapland swaini, and as ladies in popular tales of all lands always do. I will not venture^ to guess who this race may have been, but the race who contended with them would seem to have been dark complczioned. Nearly all the heroines of Gaelic songs are fair or yellow haired. Those are dark who now most admire yellow locks. A dark Southern once asked if a golden haired youth from the north had dyed his hair, for nothing natural oonld be «o beautiful. Dark Celt« and fair northmen certainly met and fought, and settled and intermarried, on the western isles and coast«, where this tale is current, but I am told that it has traits which are to be found in Eastern manuscripts, which wer« old long before the wan of the Northmen, of which we

62 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

know, began. The task I have undertaken it to gather itoriea, cot to account for them, but thia much ia eure, either Norway got this from Scotland or Scotland from Norway, when they were almost one country, or both got it from the same source. The Gaelic stories resemble each other about as much as they all resemble the Norse. The translation was published in 1859, and thia story has been current in the islands at least for 40 yeara. I can remember to hare heard part of it myself more than 20 yean ago. I believe there is an Irish version, though I have not met with it in any book. I have traced the story amongst Irish labourers in London, who have told me that they used in their young days to ail about the fire whole winter nights, and tell about the fight between the raven and the anake ; about the giants, Fin MacCoul and Conan Maol, " who bad never a good word for any one," and similar tales. My informants were from Cork, their language, though difficult, could be mad« out from a knowledge of Gaelic only.

The bridle described веста to be the old Highland bridle which is still common. It ha« no bit, but two platea of wood or iron are placed at right angles to the horse'a mouth, and are joined above and below by a rope, which is often made of horse-hair, heather, or twisted bent. The horse's nose goes IMTO IT.

The ladder ie also the Highland ladder still common in cottages. It consists of a long stick with pegs stuck through it.

There are many stories in Grimm's German collection which resemble the Battle of the Birds. They have incidents in common, arranged somewhat in the вате order; but the German stories, taken together, have a character of their own, as the Gaelic versions have : and both differ from the Norwegian tale. Each new Gaelic version which сошеа to me (and I have received several since this was written), varies from the rest, but resembles them ; and no single version is like any one of the German tales, though German, Norse, and Gaelic all hang together.

III.

THE TALE OF THE HOODIE.

From Ann MacGilvray, Iilay.— April 1869.

was ere now a farmer, and he had three -*- daughters. They were waulking* clothes at a river. A hoodie f came round and he said to the eldest one, 'Ы-РОЗ-и-ш, "Wilt thou wed me, farmer's daughter! " " I won't wed thee, thou ugly brute. An ugly brute is the hoodie," said she. Ho came to the second one on the morrow, and he said to her, " 'M-Pos-u-Mi, wilt thou wed met" " Not I, indeed," said she ; "an ugly brute is the hoodie." The third day he said to the youngest, 'M-ros-u-Mi, "Wilt thou wed mo, farmer's daughter 1 " "I will wed thee," said she ; " a pretty ureature is the hoodie," and on the morrow they married.

The hoodie said to her, " Whether wouldst thou rather that I should be a hoodie by day, and a man at night ; or be a hoodie at night, and a man by day 1 " " I would rather that thou wert a man by day, and a hoodie at night," says she. After this he was a splendid fellow by day, and a hoodie at night A few days after they married he took her with him to his own house.

At the end of three quarters they had a son. In

• Pottadk. A method of washing clothe« practiced in the Highland« — viz., by dancing on them barefoot in a tab of water.

t Hoodie — the Royiton crow — а тегу common bird in the Highland«; a ily, familiar, knowing bird, which play« • great part in theaa Btoriei. Ho il common in moat parti of Кагоре.

04 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

the night there came the тегу finest music that ever was hoard about the house. Every man slept, and the child woe token away. Her father came to the door in the morning, and he asked how were all there. He was very sorrowful that the child should be taken away, for fear that he should be blamed for it himself.

At the end of three quarters again they had another son. A watch was set on the house. The finest of music came, as it came before, about the house ; every man slept, and the child was taken away. Her father came to the door in the morning. He asked if every thing was safe ; but the child was taken away, and he did not know what to do for sorrow.

Again, at the end of three quarters they had another eon. A watch was set on the house as usual. Music came about the house as it came before ; every one slept, and the child was taken away. When they rose on the morrow they went to another place of rest that they had, himself and his wife, and his sister-in-law. He said to them by the way, " See that you have not forgotten any thing." The wife said, "I FORGOT MY TOARSE сома" The coach in which they were fell a withered faggot, and he went away as a hoodie.

Her two sisters returned home, and she followed after him. "When he would be on a lull top, she would follow to try and catch him ; and when alie would reach the top of a hill, ho would be in the hollow on the other side. When night came, and she was tired, she had no place of rest or dwelling ; she saw a little house of light far from her, and though far from her she was not long in reaching it

When she reached the house she stood deserted at the door. She saw a little laddie about the house, and she yearned to him exceedingly. The housewife told her to come up, that ehe knew her cheer and

TUB TALK OP THE HOODIE. 65

travel. She laid down, and no sooner did the day come than she rose. She went out, and when ehe was out, she was going from hill to hill to try if ehe could see a hoodie. She saw a hoodie on a hill, and when she •would get on the hill the hoodie would be in the hollow, when she would go to the hollow, the hoodie would be • on another hill. When the night came she had no place of rest or dwelling. She saw a little house of light far from her, and if far from her she was not long reaching it She went to the door. She saw a laddie on the floor to whom she yearned right much. The housewife laid her to rest No earlier came the day than she took out as she used. She passed this day as the other days. When the night came she reached a house. The housewife told her to come up, that she knew her cheer and travel, that her man had but left the house a little while, that she should be clever, that this wns the last night she would see him, and not to sleep, but to strive to seize him. She slept, he came where she was, and he let fall a ring on her right hand. Now when she awoke she tried to catch hold of him, and she caught a feather of his wing. Ые left the feather with her, and he went away. When she rose in the morning she did not know what she should do. The housewife said that he had gone over a hill of poison over which she could not go without horseshoes on her hands and feet. She gave her man's clothes, and she told her to go to learn smithying till •he should be able to make hone-shoes for herself

She learned smithying so well that she made horseshoes for her hands and feet She went over the hill of poieon. That same day after she had gone over thi: bill of poison, her man was to be married to tho daughter of a great gentleman that was in the town.

There was a nee in the town that day, and every ч

66 WMT HIGHLAND TALKS.

one was to be at the race but the étranger that baa • come over the poison hill. The cook came to her, and he said to her, Would she go in his place to make the wedding meal, and that he might get to the race.

She said she would go. She was always watching where the bridegroom would be sitting.

She let fall the ring and the feather in the broth that was before him. With the first spoon he took up the ring, with the next he took up the feather. When the minister came to the fore to make the marriage, he would not marry till he should find out who had made ready the meal. They brought up the cook of the gentleman, and he said that thù was not the cook who made ready the meal

They brought up now the : one * who had made • ready the meal He said, " That now was his married wife." The spells went off him. They turned back over the hill of poison, she throwing the horse-shoes behind her to him, as she went a little bit forward, and \ he following her. When they came back over the hill, they went to the three houses in which she had been. These were the houses of his sisters, and they took with them the three sons, -and they came home to their own house, and they were happy.

Written down by Hector Maolean, achoolmatter at Bally- grant, in Inlay, from tbe recitation of "Ann MacGilvroy, • Cowal woman, married to a fanner at Kilmeny, one Angui Maogeachy from Campbelltown." Sent April 14, 1859.

The Gaelic of tbii tale ii the plain everyday Qaelio of May and the weit Highland«. Several words are varionily spelt, but they are Tarionily pronounced—falbh, folbb, tigh, taighe, taighean. There ii one word, Tapaldh, which haï no English equivalent ; it U like Tapper in Swediib.

URSGEUL NA FEANNAIO. 6^

URSGEDL NA KUANNAIG.

Вид tuatMnach ann roimhe so; agnt bha triiiir nighean «ige. Rhi end a' poatadh aig obhainn. Thhinig feannag mu'n coairt 'a thnirt • ri» an té" bu shine, " Am pös thu mise a nighean an tuath- analch.' " Cha phbt ral»' thn 'bheathalcb ghrannda : U granuda um beathach an f heannag," аи' ise. Thainig e time na darna If an la 'r na mhalreach, 'a thuirt • lithe. " Am pot thu mise." " Cha phoa ml fein,* art' be ; "'s grannda am beathach an f heannag." An treas la thuirt e rit an te b'óige. "Am pi» thu mine, a nighean an tuath- anaich." " Pbtaidh,* ara* ise ; " s bbidheach am beathach an f bean - nag." An la'r па тЬЫгааеЬ phös èad. Thuirt an f heannag rithe. 'Ci) 'ça IsfhekrrleatmlM a bhith am f heannag Van latlia'namdhuinc aan oidhche, na bhith 'san oidhche am fhcannag '« am dholne 'ain latha ?" " 'Я fbearr leam thu bhith a'd' dhuine 'un latha '« a'd' f heannag 'san oidhche," an' Ise. Al a dhelgh so bha e na bganach ciatach 'aan latha, Vna f heannag 's an oidhche. Am beagan laitbean an deïgh dhatbhposadh thug e leis i 'ga 'thigh fein. Annan ccann tri railbean bha mac аса. Anna an oidhche thainig an aon chebl timchiol an taighe bu hhoidhche 'chnalas riamh. Chaldil a h-uile duine, 'a thug- adh air folbh am paisde. Thkinig a h-athair thon an doruisd sa mhad- ainn. Dh'fhcoraich e dé mat a bha h-uile h-aon an siod; 'a bha dullichinn mhor air gun tugadh air folbh am paisde, eagal aguí gum biodh coir* air a dbèanadh air fan air a ahon. Ann an ceann tri raithhean a rithud bha mac eile аса. Chuireadh faire air an tigh. Thkinig c*6l га bhbidheach mar a thainig roimbid timchinll an taighe ; chaidil a h-uile daim 'a thngadh air folbh am palada. Thàinii; a li-athair thon an doruisd aa mhaiduinn dh' f hebraica e in robli gach ni était ; ach bba 'm paisde air a thoirt air folbb, 's cha robli fhlbt aige de" adhèanadh t lela an duilichiun. Ann an ceann tri rtltheen a rithlad bha mac eile аса. Chaidh {aire 'char air an Ugh mar a b' abhaiat Thkinig ceci timchioll an taighe mar a thainit; mimhid ; ehaidil gach ncach, 's thugadh am paisde air folbh. Nur a dh' elridh lad an la V na mhaireach chaidh lad gu hkit« tàmh »lie a bba acá, e fein t a' bbean, 't a' phinthar chélle. Thuirt e ria air an ralbad. Keuch nach do dhichuimhiiich aibh nl 'tarn blth. Urt' a' bhean, " DRIOCHUIMHICIOB MI мо сит OIIARBII." Thuit an earbad ann* an robb end 'na chual chrlonaich, tdh fhalbb esan 'na f heannag. Thill a dh« phinthair dhachaidh 'a dh' fbolbh iae 'na dhe'igh- aan. Nur a bhiodb etan air mallach cnoio leanadh iae e feucb am bciieadh t air, 't nur a ruigcadh iat mullach a chnoic bhiodh eaan

68 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

san lag an taobh eile. Kur a thhinig an oidhche 's i agUh, cha robb kite thinli па fuireachd aice. Chunnaic i tigli beag soluisd fad.i uaithe 's ma b' fhada uaitbe cha b' f hada a bha ise 'ga ruigheaclul. Nur a rainig i an tigh sheas i gu diblidh aig an domed. Chunnaic i baluclian beag feadh an taigbe, s theöigh i ris gu h-anabarrach. Thuirt bean an taighe rithe tighinn a nlos, gu robh fios a seud 's n siubhall aicese. Cliaidh i laidhe, 's cha bu luaithe thainig an lath» na dir ¿iridh i. Cbaidhi 'mach, 's nur a bha i 'mach bha i o chnoc gucnoc feuch am faiceadh i feannag. Chunnaic i feammg air спсн, 's nur a racbadh ise uir a'chnoc bhiodh an f lieannag 'san lag nur a rachadli i do'n lag bhiodh an fheannag air cnoc eile. Nur a thainig an oidbche cha robh hite taimh na fuireachd aice. Chunnaic i tigh beag soluisd fada uaithe 's ma b' fhada uaithe cha b* f hada 'bha'ise'ga ruigheachd. Chaidh i gus an dorusd. Chunnaic i balacban air an orlar ru an do thebigh i gu ra mhör. Chuir bean an taighe a laidhe i. Cha bu mhoich' a thainig an latha na ghabh l 'mach mar a b'abhaist. Chuir i seachad an latha so mar na luithean eile. Nur n Ihàinig an oidhche rhinig i tigh. Thuirt bean an taighe rithe ligh- inn a vi\m ; gu 'riibli lion a seud 's a liubhaH aice-se; nach d' rinn a fear ach an tigh f hàgail bho cueann tiota beag; i 'bhith tapaidh. gum b' i siuJ an oidhche ma dheireadh dhi f haicinn, 'a gun i Viudal. ach strt ri gréim a dhèanadh air. Chaidil ise, 's thainig esan far an robh i, 's lig etuiteamdoilh' fhainn, air a làimhdhea«. Nur adhuiig ise an so thug i lamb air breith air, 's rug i air ite d'à agéitb. 1-cig •• leatha an ite, 's dh' f halbh e. Nur a dh1 éiridh i '«a mhsdainn che robh tins aice dé a dhehnadli i. Tliuirt bean an taighe gu'n deach e tlmim air cnoc neamh air nach b'urrainn ise dol thairis gun chruidh- ean d'à lamban ague d'à casan. Thug i dhi aodach fir 's thuirt i ritiit- dol a dh' lonnsachadh na goiblmeachd gus am biodh i cum- asach air crùidhean a dhèanadh din iV'in. Uh' ionnsaich i 'ghoibh- neachd rhô math '« gun d' rínn i criiidhean d'à lamban agus da casan. Dh ïliullili i thairis air a chnoc neamh. An latha sin fein an (Migli dhi dol thairis air a chnoc neamh bha pbsadh ri bhith aig a fear ri nighean duine nasail mhoir a bha '«a bhaile. Bha rèis anus a Umili an latha sin, s bha h-uilc h-aon ri bhith aig an r¿is ach an coigreacli a thainig thairis air a' chnoc neamh. Thainig an cbcaire a h-ionns- uiclli, '« thuirt e rithe an rachadh i 'na hite a dhèanadh biadh па bainnne. 'agu 'faiglieadh e dol tluin na reise. Tliuirt 1 gu' rachadh Itha I furachail daonnan chite am biodh fear na bainnae 'na shuidhe. Lig 1 tuiteam do 'n f hhinne airus do 'n ite 'sa bhrot a bha air a bheulaobh. I.ei» a' chiad sphin thog e'm fhlnne, s lets an ath sphin thug e 'n Ite. Nur a thhinig am mlnistir a Ihthatr a dhèanadh

TUE TALE OF THE HOODIE. 69

• phosaldh cha phbndh емо gas am faigheiulh e Вое со а rinn am bUdh. Thug ¡art a' lalhair cocaire an duine nasail, 'в thiiirt c«an nach b' e «iod an cbcaire a rinn am biadh. Thug iad an lathsir an »o an t-aon a rinn «m bhdh. Thulrt esan gam b'e siori a'bhetn phosda-san a nls. Dh' f holbh n> geaaan dhetb. Thill iacl air an aii thairla air a* chnoc ncamh ; IM a tilgeil nan craldhean as a do"igh da 'ionnsuldhian nor a thigeadh i trail air a h-aghaldh, '§ esnn 'ga leantainn. Nor a thainlg end air an ais thar a' chnoic, chaldh iad than nan tri talghean anni an robb IM. B'e lin tri taigbean a pheathraichean-ssn, thug lad leo an tri roic. Thainig iad dhachaidh g'an tigh Min, 'i bha lad gu tollichte.

HKCTOR ЫлсЬклм.

2. I have я great many versions nf thii tale in Garlic ; Tor example, one from Cowal, written from memory by a labourer, John Dewar. These are generally wilder and longer than the version here given.

This hiu some resemblance to an infinity of other stories. For example—Orpheus, Cupid and Psyche, Cinderella's Coach, The Lassie and her Uodmother (Norse tales), East o' the Sun and West o' the Moon (ditto). The Master Maid (ditto), Katie Wooden Clonk (ditto), The Iron Stove (Grimm), The Woodcutter's Child (ditto), and a tale by the Countess d'Aulnoy, Prince Chérie.

If this be hixtory, it is the story of a wife taken from an inferior but civilised race. The farmer's daughter married to the Flayer "Рвлкнло," deserted by her husband for another in some distant, mythical land, beyond far away mountains, and bringing him back by steady, fearless, penevering fidelity snd industry.

If it be mythology, the hoodie may be the raven again, and a transformed divinity. If it relates to races, the superior race again had horses—for there was to be a race in the town, and every one wai to be at it, but the Etranger who came over the hill ; and when they travelled it was in a coach, which was sufficiently wonderful to be magical, and here again the comb is mixed up with the spells.

There il a itone at Dnnrobin Castle, in Sutherland, on which a comb is, carved with other carious devices, which have never been explained. Within a few hundred yardi in an old gravo

7O WB8T HIGHLAND TAI.ES.

composed of great slabs of stone, accidentally discovered on a bank of gravel, a man's skeleton was found with teeth worn down, though perfectly sound, exactly like those of an old horse. It is supposed that the man must have ground his teeth on dried peas and beans—perhaps on meal, prepared in sandstone querns. Here, at least, is the COMB near to the grave of the farmer. The comb which is so often found with querns in the old dwellings of some рге-historic race of Britons; the comb which is a civilized instrument, and which in these stories is always a coveted object worth great exertions, and often magical.

IV.

THE SEA-MAIDEN.

From John Mackenzie, fisberman, near Imonuv.

rPIIMl;Г', was ere now a poor old fisher, but on this -*- year he was not getting much fish. On a day of days, and he fishing, there rose a sea-maiden at the side of his boat, and she asked him if he was getting fish. The old man answered, and he said that he was not " What reward wouldst thou give me for sending plenty of fish to thee t " " Ach l " said the old man, " I have not much to spare." " Wilt thou give me the first son thon hast?" said she. " It is I that would give thoe that, if I were to have a son ; tlioro was not, and there will not be a son of mine," said he, " I and my wife are grown so old." " Name nil thou hast." " I have but an old mare of a horse, an old dog, myself, and my wife. There's for thee all the creatures of the great world that are mino." " Heif, then, are three grains for thee that thou shalt give thy wife this very night, and three others to the dog, and these three to the mare, and these three likewise thou shalt plant behind thy house, and in their own timo thy wife will have three sons, the mare throe foals, and the dog three puppies, and there will grow three trees behind thy house, and the trees will be a sign, when one of the sons dies, one of the trees will wither. Now, take thyself home, and remember me when thy son is three years of age, and thou thyself wilt get

7Z WEST HIGHLAND TAUS.

plenty of fish after this." Everything happened as the sen-maiden said, and he himself was getting plenty of fish ; but when the end of the three years was nearing, the old man was growing sorrowful, heavy hearted, while, he failed each day as it cama On the namesake of the day, he wont to fish as he used, but he did not take his son with him.

The sea-maiden rose at the side of the boat, and asked, " Didst thou bring thy son with thee hither to me Ч " " Och ! I did not bring him. I forgot that this was the day." " Yes ! yes ! then," said the sea-maiden ; " thou shalt get four other years of him, to try if it be easier for thee to part from him. Here thou hast his like age," and she lifted up a big bouncing liaiiy. " Is thy son as fine as this one '( " Ho wont homo full of glou and delight, for that ho had got four other years of hie son, und ho kept on fishing and getting plenty of fish, but at the end of the next four years sorrow and woe struck him, and he took not a meal, and he did not a turn, and his wife could not think what was ailing him. This time ho did not know what to do, but he set it l>efore him, that lie would not take his son with him this time either. He wont to fish as at the former times, and the Hcu-maiden roso at the side of the Ixmt, and she asked him, " Didst thou bring thy son hither to me Г " Och ! I forgot him this time too," said the old man. " Go home then," said the sea-maiden, " and at the end of seven years after this, thou art sure to remember me, but then it will not be the easier for thee to part with him, but thou shalt got fish as thou used to do."

The old man went home full of joy ; he had got seven other years of his son, and before seven years passed, the old man thought that he himself would bu dead, and that ho would see the sea-maiden no more.

THE 8KA-MAIDEN. 73

But no matter, the end of those seven years was near- ing also, and if it was, the old man was not without care and trouble. He had rest neither day nor night The eldest son asked his father one day if any one were troubling him t The old man said that some one was, but that belonged neither to him nor to any one else. The lad said he muet know what it was. Hie father told him at last how the matter was between him and the sea-maiden. " Let not that put you in any trouble," said the son ; " I will not oppose you." " Thou ehalt not ; thou ehalt not go, my son, though I should not got fish for over." " If you will not let me go with you, go to the smithy, and lot the smith moke me a great strong sword, and I will go to the end of fortune." Hie father went to the smithy, and the smith made a doughty sword for him. His father came home with the sword. The lad grasped it and gave it a shake or two, and it went in a hundred splinters. He asked his father to go to the smithy and get him another eword, in which there should bo twice as much ' weight ; and so did his father, and so likewise it happened to the next sword—it broke in two halves. Dock went the old man to the smithy ; and the smith made a great sword, its like he never made before. "There's thy sword for thee," said the smith, "and the fist must be good that plays this blade." The old man gave the sword to his son, he gave it a shake or two. " This will do," said he ; " it's high time now to travel on ray way." On the next morning he put a saddle on the black horse that the mare had, and he iput the world under his head,*) and his black dog was by his side. When he went on a bit, he fell in with the carcass of a sheep beside the road. At the carrion were a great dog, a falcon, and an otter. Ile came down • Took the world for bit pillow.

74 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

off the horse, and he divided the carcass amongst the three. Three third shares to the dog, two third shares to the otter, and a third share to the Mean. " For this," said the dog, " if swiftness of foot or sharpness of tooth will give thee aid, mind me, and I will be at thy side." Said the otter, " If the swimming o£"foot on the groumf of a pool will lobse^thce, mind me, and I will be at thy side." Said the falcon, " If hardship cornea on thee, where swiftness of wing or crook of u claw will do good, mind me, and I will be at thy sida" On this he went onward till he reached a king's house, and he took service to be a herd, and his wages were to be according to the milk of the cattla He went away with the cattle, and the grazing was but bare. When lateness came (in the evening), and when lie took (them) home they hod not much milk, the place was so bare, and his meat and drink was but spare this night

On the next day he went on further with them ; and at last he came to a place exceedingly grassy, in a green glen, of which he never saw the lika

Lut about the time when he should go behind the cattle, for taking homewards, who is seen coming but a great giant, with his sword in his hand. " Hiu ! HAU!! HOQARAICH III" says the giant "It is long since my teeth were rusted seeking thy flesh. The cattle are mine ; they are on my march ; and a dead man art thou." " I said, not that," says the herd ; " there is no knowing, but that may be easier to say than to do."

To grips they go—himself and the giant Пе saw that he was far from lus friend, and near his foe. He drew the groat clean-sweeping sword, and he neared the giant; and in the play of the battle the_ black dog leaped on the giant's back. The herd drew back

THE SEA-MAIDEN. 7J

hie sword, and the head was off the giant in a twinkling, lie leaped on the black horse, and he went to look for the giant's house/"" He reached a door, and in the liaste that the giant mode he had left each gnte and door ojwa In wont the herd, and that's the place whore there was magnificence and money in plenty, and dresses of each kind м> tba wardrobe with gold and • silver, and each thing finer than the other. At the mouth of night he took himself to the king's house, but he took not a thing from the giant's house. And when the cattle were milked this night there wo* milk. He got good feeding this night, meat and drink without stint, and the king was hugely pleased that he had caught such a herd. Ho went on for a time in this way, but at last the glen grew bare of grass, and the grazing was not so good.

But he thought he would go a little further forward in on the giant's land ; and he sees a great park of grass. He returned for the cattle, and he puts them into the park.

They were but a short time grazing in the park when a great wild giant came full of rage and madness. " Hiu ! Haw I ! Hoagraich ! ! !" said the giant (" It is a drink of' ' thy blood that quenches my thirst this night"') " There " is no knowing," said the herd, " but that 's easier to say than to do." And at each other went the men. There was the shaking of blades I At length and at last it seemed as if the giant would get the victory over the herd. Then ho called on his dog, and with ono spring the block dog caught the giant by the neck, and swiftly the herd struck off his head.

He went homo very tired this night, but it's a wonder if the king's cattle had not milk. The whole family were delighted that they had got such a herd.

Ho followed herding in this way for a time ; but

JO WEST H1OHLAJTD TALES.

one night after he came borne, instead of getting " all hail" and "good lack" from the dairymaid, all were at crying and woe.

lie asked what cause of woe there was this night. The dairymaid said that a great beast with three heads was in the loch, and she was to get (some) one every year, and the lots had come this year on the king's daughter, " and in the middle of the day (to-morrow) she is to meet the uille Bheist at the upper end of the loch, but there is a great suitor yonder who is going to rescue her."

" What suitor is that Г said the herd. " Oh, he is a great General of arms," said the dairymaid, " and when he kills the beast, he will marry the king's daughter, for the king has said, that he who could save his daughter should get lier to marry."

But on the morrow when the time was nearing, the king's daughter and this hero of arms went to give a meeting to the beast, and they reached the black cor- rie at the upper end of the loch. They were but a short time there when the beast stirred in the midst of the loch ; but on the General's seeing this terror of a beast with three heads, he took fright, and he slunk away, and he hid himself. And the king's daughter was under fear and under trembling with no one at all to save her. At a glance, she sees a doughty handsome youth, riding a black horse, and coming where she was. He was marvellously arrayed, and full armed, and his black dog moving after him. "There is gloom on thy face, girl," said the youth. "What dost thou hero 1" " Oh ! tliat's no matter," said the king's daughter. " It's not long I'll be hero at all events." " I said not that," said ho. " A worthy fled as likely as thou, and not long since," said she. " He is a worthy who stands the war," said the youth. He lay

THE SEA-MAIPKN. JJ

down beeide her, and he said to her, if he should fall asleep, she should rouse him when she should see the beast making for shore. " What is rousing for thee 1 " said she. " Rousing for me is to put the gold ring on thy finger on my little finger." Thoy wore not long there when she saw the boast making for shore. She took a ring off her finger, and put it on the little finger of the lad. He awoke, and to meet the beast he went with his sword and his dog. But there was the spluttering and splashing between himself and the beast I The dog was doing all he might, and the king's daughter was palsied by fear of the noise of the beast They would now be under, and now above. But at last he cut one of the heads nil' her. She gave one roar RAJVIC, and the son of earth MACTALLA of the rocks (echo), called to her screech, and she drove the loch in spindrift from end to end, and in a twinkling she went out of sight. " Good luck and victory that were following thee, lad 1" said the king's (laughter. " I am safe for one nielli, but the boast will como again, and for over, until the other two heads come off her." Ho caught the beast's head, and he drew a withy through it, and he told her to bring it with her there to-morrow. She went home with the head on her shoulder, and the herd betook himself to the cows, but she hod not gone fnr when this great General saw her, and he said to her that ho would kill her, if she would not say that Ч was he took the head off the beast " Oh !" says she, "'tis I will say it, Who else took the hood off the i'' beast but thou !' " They reached the king's house, and the head was on the General's shoulder. But here was rejoicing, that she should come home alive and whole, and this great captain with the beast's head full of blood in his hand. On the morrow they went

78 WEST HIGHLAND TAUB.

away, and there was no question at all but that this hero would save the king's daughter.

They reached the same place, and they were not long there when the fearful uille Eheist stirred in the midst of the loch, and the hero slunk away as he did on yesterday, but it was not long after this when the man of the black horse come, with another dress on. No matter, she knew that it was the very some lad. " It is I am pleased to see thee," said she. " I am in hopes thou wilt handle thy great sword to-day as thou didst yesterday. Come up and take breath." But they were not long there when they saw the beast steaming in the midst of the loch.

The lad lay down at the side of the king's daughter, and he said to her, " If I sleep before the beast comes, rouse mo." " What is rousing for thco f " " Rousing for me is to put the ear-ring that is in thine ear in mine." He had not well fallen asleep when the king's daughter cried, " rouse I rouse !" but wake he would not ; but she took the ear-ring out of her ear, and she put it in the ear of the lad. At once he woke, and to meet the beast he went, but there was Tloopersteich and Tlaper- stich rawceil s'tawceil, spluttering, splashing, raving and roaring on the beast I They kept on thus for a long time, and about the mouth of night, he cut another head ч IГ the beast He put it on the withy, and he leaped on the black horse, and he betook himself to the herding. The king's daughter went home with the heads. The General met her, and took the heads from her, and he said to her, that she must tell that it was he who took the head off the beast this time also. " Who else took the head off the beast but thou Г said she. They reached the king's house with the heads. Then there was joy and gladness. If the king лгав hopeful the first night, he was now sure that this great hero would

ТНК SEA-MAIDEN. 79

save his daughter, and there was no question at nil but that the other head would be off the beast on the morrow.

About the ваше time on the morrow, the two went away. The officer hid himself as he usually did. The king's daughter betook herself to the bank of the loch. The hero of the black horse come, and ho lay at her side. She woke the lad, and put another ear-ring in his other ear ; and at the beast lie went. But if rawceil and toiccil, roaring and raving were on the beast on Urn days that were passed, this day she was horrible. But no matter, he took the third head off the boost ; and if ho did, it was not without a struggle. lie drew it through the withy, and she went home with the heads. When they reached the king's house, all were full of smiles, and the General was to marry the king's daughter the next day. The wedding was going on, and every one about the castle longing till the priest should come. But when the priest came, she would marry but the one who could take the heads off the withy without cutting the withy. " Who should take the heads olf the withy but the man that put the heads on t " said the king.

The General tried them, but he could not loose them ; and at last there was no one about the house but had tried to take the heads off the withy, but they could not The king asked if there were any one else about the house that would try to take the heads off the withy t They said that the herd had not tried them yet Word went for the herd ; and he was not long throwing them hither and thither. " But stop n bit, my lad," said the king's daughter, " the man that took the heads off the beast, he has my ring and my two ear-rings." The herd put his hand in his pocket, and he threw them on the board. " Thou art

8O WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

ray man," said the king's daughter. The king woe not so pleased when he saw that it was a herd who was to marry his daughter, but he ordered that he should be put in a bettor dress ; but his daughter spoke, and she said that he had a dress as fine as any that ever was in his castle ; and thus it happened. The herd put on the giant's golden dress, and they married that same night

They were now married, and everything going on welL They were one day sauntering by the side of the locli, and there came a beast more wonderfully terrible than the other, and takes him away to the loch without fear, or asking. The king's daughter was now mournful, tearful, blind-sorrowful for her married man ; she was always with her eye on the loch. An old smith met her, and she told how it had befallen her married mate. The smith advised her to spread everything that was finer than another iu the very same place where the beast took away her man ; and so she did. The beast put up her nose, and she said, " Fine is thy jewellery, king's daughter." " Finer than that is the jewel that thou tookest from mo," said sha " Give mo one sight of iny man, and thou shalt get any one thing of all these thou seest" The beast brought him up. " Deliver him to me, and thou ehalt got all thou seest," said she. The beast did as she said. She threw him alive and whole on the bonk of the loch.

A short time after this, when they were walking at the side of the loch, the same l>east took away the king's daughter. Sorrowful was each one that was in the town on this night Her man was mournful, tearful, wandering down and up about the banks of the loch, by day and night. The old smith met him. The smith told him that there was no way of killing the uille Bheist but the one way, and this is it—" In the

THE SEA-MAIDEN. S I

island that is in the midst of the loch is Hi I lid Chais-. fliion—the white footed hind, of the slenderest legs, / and the swiftest step, and though she should be caught, j there would spring a hoodie out of her, and though { the hoodie should be caught, there would spring a trout j out of her, but there is an egg in the mouth of the trout, and the soul of the beast is in the egg, and if the egg breaks, the beast is dead.

Now, there was no way of getting to this island, for the beast would sink each boat and raft that would go on the loch. He thought he would try to leap the strait with the black horse, and oven so he did. The black horse leaped the strait, and the black dog with one bound after him. He saw the Eillid, and he let the black dog after her, but when the black dog would be on one side of the island, the Eillid would be on the other side. " Oh I good were now the great dog of the carcass of flesh here ! " No sooner spoke he the word than the generous dog was at his side ; and after the Eillid he took, and the worthies were not long in bringing her to earth. But he no sooner caught her than a hoodie sprang out of her. " Tie now, were good the falcon grey, of sharpest eye and swiftest wing ! " No sooner said he this than the falcon was after the hoodie, and she was not long putting her to earth ; and as the hoodie fell on the bank of the 1ос1ц out of her jumps the trout " Oh, that thou wert by me now, oh otter I " No sooner said than the otter was at hie side, and out on the loch she leaped, and brings the trout from the midst of the loch ; but no sooner was the otter on shore with the trout than the egg came out from his mouth. He sprang and he put his foot on it T was then the beast let out a roar, and she said, " Break not the egg, and thou göltest oll thou oskest" "Deliver to mo my о

8l WIST HIGHLAND TALE.

wife t " In the wink of an eye she was by his side. When he got hold of her hand in Loth hie hands he let Ыа foot (down) on the egg and the beast died.

The beast was dead now, and now was the sight to he seen. , She was horrible to look upon. The three heads were off her doubtless, but if they were, there wore heads under and heads over head on her, and eyes, and fire hundred feet But no matter, they left her there, and they went home, and there was delight and smiling in the king's house that night And till now he had not told the king how he killed the giants. The king put great honour on him, and he was a great man with the king.

Himself and his wife were walking one day, when he noticed a little castle beside the loch in a wood ; he asked his wife who was dwelling in it f She said that no one would be going near that castle, for that no one had yet come back to tell the tale, who had gone there.

" The matter must not be so," said he ; " this very night I will see who is dwelling in it." "Go not, go not," said she ; " there never went man to this castle that returned." " Be that as it pleases," says he. He went ; he betakes himself to the castle. When he reached the door, a little flattering crone met him standing in the door. " All hail and good luck to theo, fisher's son ; 'tis I myself am pleased to see thee ; great is the honour for this kingdom, thy like to be come into it—thy coming in is fame for this little bothy ; go in first ; honour to the gentles ; go on, and take breath." In he went» but as he was going up, she drew the Slachdan druidhach on him, on the bock of his head, and at once—there he fell

On this night there was -woe in the king's castle, and on the morrow there was a wail in the fislmr's house. The tree is seen withering, and the fisher's

TIIK SKA MAIDEN. 83

middle eon said that his brother was dead, and he made a vow and oath, that he would go, and that he would know where the corpse of hie brother was lying. He put saddle on a black horse, and rode after his black 1 dog ; (for the three sons of the fisher had a black horse. / and a black dog), and without going hither or thither he followed on his brother's step till be reached the king's house.

This one was so like his elder brother, that the king's daughter thought it was her own man. He stayed in the castle. They told him how it befell his brother ; and to the little cnstlo of the crone, go lie must—happen hard or soft as it might To the castle he went ; and just ая befell the eldest brother, so in each way it befell the middle son, and with one blow of the Slach- daii druidliach, the crone felled him stretched beside his " brother.

On seeing the second tree withering, the fisher's youngest son said that now his two brothers were dead, and that ho must know what death had come on them. On the black horse he went, and he followed the dog as his brothers did, and he hit the king's house before he stopped. 'T was the king who was pleased to see him ; but to the black castle (for that was its name) they would not let him go. But to the castle he must go ; and so he reached the castle.—" All hail and good luck to thyself, fisher's eon : Ч is I am pleased to see thee ; go in and take breath," said she (the crone). " In before me, thou crone : I don't like flattery out of doors ; до in and lot's hear thy speech." In wont the crone, and when her back was to him he drew his sword and whips her head off ; but the sword flew out of his hand. And swift the crone gripped her head with both hands, and put* it on her neck as it was before. The dog sprung on tho croiic, and she struck the generous dog with tho

»4 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

club of magic ; and there he lay. But this went not to make the youth more sluggish. To grips wth the crone he goes ; he got a hold of the Slachdan druidhach, and with one blow on the top of the head, she was on earth in the wink of an eye. He went forward, up a little, and he sees his two brothers lying side by side, lie gave a blow to each one with the Sliiclulun druidhach and on foot they were, and there was the spoil ! ( ¡old and silver, and each thing inore precious than another, in the crone's castle. They came back to the king's house, and thon there was rejoicing ! The king was growing old. The eldest son of the fisherman was crowned king, and the pair of brothers stayed a day and a year in the king's house, and then the two went on their journey home, with the gold and silver of the crone, and each other grand thing which the king gave them ; and if they have not died since then, they are alive to this very day.

Written, April 1850, by Hector Urquhart, from the dictation of John Mackenzie, fisherman, Kenmore, near Inverary, wbu says that ho learned it from an old mnn in Lorn many years ago. He has lived for thirty-six years at Kenmore. He told the tale fluently at first, and thon dictated it slowly.

The ( iiu-lii; ¡H given us nearly ав possible in the words ueed KV Mackenzie, but ho thinks his story rathor shortened.

A MHAIGHDEAN MHARA.

!lii.\ mm roimhe to, sean iiugair boclid, ach air a bhllailhna so, cha rubh a faotninn a blicag do dh'iaag. budín do na laithean 's e 'g- iiugicli, illi' eiricli malglidean-inlmra rl taobh a blihta, 's dh' f hebr- aicli i dheth, An robu o faotainn a blieag do du'iaag? Fhreagair an seann duine, 's thubhalrt e nach robh. "De 'n daais a bheir- • ;u Ib tu il I >< ¡i ii h vi aireen pailteas éisg a chuir thugacl ?" Ach are' an

A MIIAIGHDEAN МИЛНА. 85

seann duine, "Cha 'n 'eil a bheag agamsa ri sheachnadh." "An toir th» dhomh an cèud inline a bhitheaa agad?" an' ¡so. " 'Smise a bhcireadh sin dhuit na 'm biodh mac again ; cha robb 's cha bhi mac ag«nsa," are' eaan ; " tha mi fein '» mo bhean air cinntinn со sean. 'Ainmlch na bheil agud.' Cha 'n 'eil agamsa ach seann lair eich, seana ghalla ehoin, ml (Vin 'a mo bhean ; lin agadsa na tha chrcu- Ыгеап an t-aaoghail mhhr agamsa," " So agail, mata, tri spilgeanan a bbeir Ihn do d' mhnaoi air an oidhche nochd, ague trt eile do 'n ghalla, agus an tri so do 'n chapul), agua an tri so mar an ceudiis, cairidh ta air chl do tbighe; agos 'nan am fein bithidh triiiir mime aig do bhean, tri searraich aig an lair tri cuileanan aig a ghalla, agus cinnidh tri cbraobhan air cbl do thighe, agos bitbidh na craobhan 'nan samhladh ; 'nuair a bhaeaicheas a h-aon do na mic seargaidh Ы do na craobhan. Mis, thoir do thigh ort, agua coinnich mise dur a bhitbeas do mhac tri bliadhna 'dh' aois, 's gheibh thu fein pailt«as eisg an dclgh so." Thin-hair na h-uile ni mar a thubhairt a mbaigh- dean-mhara ; agns bha e fein a faotainn pailteas ¿lag, ach a nuair я bha ceann nan tri bliadhna a dliithachadh bha an wann duine a fas cianail, trom-chridheach, 's e 'dol uaithe na h-uile latha mar bha teachd. Air comhainm an latha, chaidh e' dh' iasgacbd mar a b'abhaist, ach cha d'-thug e mhac leis.

Dh' ¿¡rich a mhaighdean-mhara ri taobh a bhhta, 's dh' fbarraid i, "an d'-thug thu leat du mhac thngam?" "Acht cha d'-thug, dhl-choimhnich mi gu 'ml b'e so an latha." "Seadh ! seadh ! mata," ara' a mhaighdcan-mhara, " gheibh thu cethir bliadhn' eile dheth ; faodaidh gur ann la usa dhuit dealachadh ris ;" so agad a chnmh- aoise, 'ai togail suaa leanabb brcagha anltnihor, "am bheil do mhac-aa cho breagha ris ?" Dh' fhnlbh e dhachaldh Ian sodain is «Mai», a chlonn gn 'n d' fhuair e ceithir bliadhn' eile d'à mhac ; 'a bha e'g-iasgach 'sa' faotalnn pailteas ¿lag. 'Ach an ceann na h-ath cheithir bliadhna, bhnail mulad 's brim e, '• cha ghabhadh e Ibn 's cha deanadh e turn, '• cha robh a' bhean a tuigsinn dé a bha cur air. Air an am so, cha robb flot aige de 'dhcanadh e, ach chuir e roimbe, nach d'-thugadb e Icis a mhac air an uair ao nú mn. Dh'-fhalbh e dh' iasgach mar air na h-uairoan roimhc, 'a dh'cirich a mhaigh- dean-mbara ri taobh a bhati, 'a dh' fhebraich i dhetb, "An d' tbug thu thugam do mhac ?" " Ach dhi-chuimhnoicb mi e air an uair ao ara' an seann duine." " Falbh dhachaidh, mata," ал' а n-mhira, "agua an ceann seachd bliadbna na dheigb so, tha thn cinnteach mis a choinneachadb ; ach cha 'n ann an sin is usa dhuit dealachadh ris ; ach gheibh thu lasg mar a b-abhaist dhuit."

Chaidh an wann duine dhachaidh Un aoibhncia : fhuar e seachd

86 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

bliodhn' eile d'à mhac t agua mu'n rochadh seaclul bliadhna seachad, bha 'n scann duine a sinuuineacliudh gu 'in biodb e fein marbh, agus nach faiceadh e 'mhaighdeon-mhara tuillidh. Acb coma со dhia. bba oeann nan seacbd bliadbna so a dliitliachadh cuideachd, agus ma 'bba cha robb an scann duine gun chiiram u's trioblaid. Cba robb fob aige a lutlia па ЛЬ1 oidbcbe. Dh' fheoraich am mac bu shine d'à atbair, aon latha, an robh ni air bith a' cuir dragh air ? Thubhairt an мапп duine, "gu'n robh, ach nach buineadh «in dhasan, na do IK.-;« li air bith eile." Thubhairt an t-bgnnach gu 'm feumadb e fios fhaotainn air, 'a dh'innia athair dha mu dheireadh mar a bh* chula eadar e fein 'sa mhaighdean-mhara. " Na cuir- eadh >!n ciiram 'aam bith oirbh," ara' am mac: "Cha tífid, mite na 'r n-aghaidh." " Cha teid, cha teid, a mhic, ged nach faighinn iasg a cluioidh." "Hur leig »ibh dhomh dal maille ribh, rachaibh do'n cheardach, agua deanadh an gobha claidbeamh mûr laidir dhbmhia, 's falbhaidh mi alr ceann an fbortain." Chaidh athair do 'n cheardalch, 'a rinn an gobha claidheamh foghaintcach dlia, Thiiinig 'uthair dhachoidh leis a chluidheamh. Hug un t-bganacli air 's thuß e cratliadli na dhb, air, 'a dh' fhalbh o 'na cheud apoalg. Dir iurr e air 'athair dol do'n cheardalch, agus claidheamh eile fliaotainn deanta, anns am bitheadh a dlia uiread do chndthrom; agua mor во rinn athair, agus air an doigh cheudna thachair do 'n chlaidheamh; bhrist e na dha luth. Air ais cbaidh an seann duine do'n cheardaich, agus rinn an gobha claidheamh mor ; a leithid, cha 'a' rinn e riainh roimhe. " So agad da chlaidheamh," ara' an gobha, " 's feumaidh an dorn a blii maith a chluichcas an limn eo." Thug an seann duin«, an claidheamh d'à mliac; thug e crathadh na di this air ; " Ni so feum," ara' am mac, " 's mithich a nis trial! air mo thuras," an' esan. Air maduinn an ath latha, chulr e dlollaid air an each dubh a bha aig an lair, agus thug e 'n saoghal fuidh' cheann 't an cuth dubh ri thaobh. 'N uair a chaidh e greis air, aghaidh, thachair careáis caora ris alg taobh an rathaid. Aig a charcais bha madadh mor, seabhag, agus dbbhran. Tbcirin e bhar an eich, agus roinn e a' chlosach eailar an triùir. Tri trianan do'n mhadadh, da thrian do'n dóbhran, agus trian do'n t-seabhag. " Airaon so," an' am madadh, " Ma ni luathas chas па gclre fiacail, cobhair dhuit, caiinhnich ormnsa, agus bithidh mi ri d' thaobh." Thubhairt an dbbhran, " Ma ui snamh coise air grund linne fuasg- ladh ort, cuimhnich ormsa aguí bithidh mi ri 'd' thaobh." Ar:,' an t-seabhag, " Ma thig cruaidh chas ort, far an dean luathas itean na crom ionga feum, cuimhnich ormsa, 's bithidh mi ri 'd' thaobh." Ghabh e 'n so air aghaidh, gus an d'rainig e tigh rtgh, 's ghabh e

À. MHAïaiIDEAN МПЛВА. 87

muinntearae ga bhi 'na bhtiachaille, agus 'sann a ríir '« na bhith- eadh do bhainne tig a chrodh a bhiodb a thuarudal. Cbaidh • air falbh Icia a chrodh, ach cha robh an t-ionaltradh ach lorn. 'Nnalr a thhinig an t-anmoch, 's a thug e dhachaidh ¡ad, cha robh 'bheag do bhainn* аса, bha 'n t-Hite со lorn, '« cha robh 'bhladh na 'dheoch ach suarracli air an oidhche so. Air an ath latha, gliabh « airadhnrt ni b' flmidc leo, BRUS mu dhcireadh ilminig o gu bite ana- barracli feurach, ann an gleann uaine nach fac e riamh a leithid. Ach mu am dha dol ma chhl a chraidh gu 'n tabhairt dhachaidh, со t cbitbear a' tighinn ach famhnir mor, 'sa chlaidbeamh 'na IKinih. " Ihr I HAD I ИОАОВАЮН I" an' am famhair, " 's fada bho 'n bha meirg air m' fhtaclan ag larraidh do chnid feola : 'a learns* 'n crodh, tha lad air mo chrieh, aguí il dulne marbh thuea." " Cha dubhalrt mi «in," nrs' am buachaille; "cha 'n 'eil fios nach uaa »in a radii na dhtanamh.

Ann am badaibh a' cheile pabhar e Uta '» am famhair. Chnnnale

• gu 'n robh e fada bbo a charaid 's din d'à namhaid. Thar- ruing • 'n cUldheamh mör nach fhagadh fuigheal beam, agus dhluth- aicb e ris an fhamhair, ecus ann am mireadh a chatba leum an cii dubh air chl an fhamhair, 's tharrning am bnachaill' a chlaidh- eamli 's bha 'n ceann do 'n fhamhair ann am prioba na suit Leum

• air mum an eich dhuibh, agus chaidh я shealltainn airson tigh an fhtmhair. Rhinig e 'n don», agus leis a' chabhaig, a bha air an fliamhair, dli' flihg e gich geata 's gach don» fosgailte. 'Steach chaidh am buachaille, ague 'sann an sin a bha 'n greadhnachis, or 's alrgiod inn am pail tea», 'i trnsgain dbetli gach aeoraa air am faitbeanvl" or 's airgiod '• gach ni bu riomhaiche na cheile. Am beol na h-oidhche thug e en ¡steal an rigli air, ach cha d' thug e, dad air bith leis a tigh an fhamhair ; agus a noair a chaidh an crodh a bhleoghan, 's ann an sin a bha 'm bainne. Khaair e de bheatha mhaith air an oidhche so, bladh 's droch gun ghainne, ague bha an rtgh anabarrach toilicht«, gu 'n rt' fhuair e greim air a leithid do bhuachaille. Chaidh e air aghiidh air son hiñe air an dolgh so, ach ma dheireadh, dh' thai an gleann lorn do dir (hear, aguí cha robh an t-ionaltradh cito mallh. Ach sm.ioinicli e pnn rachiidh e air aghaidh beagan ni b'fliaide a' atigh air ciilr an flumhalr, agus faieear pairee mhbr do dh' fheur. Thill e alrson a chruidh aguí cnirear a stlgh do 'n phalrce lad. Cha robh lad ach goirld ag ionaltradh 'sa phalrce, 'nualr a thbinig famhair mor, fladhaich, Ian fe«rg agns corruich. " Hen I ho ! hoagraich I" ars' am famhair, " 'rt deoch do d' fhull a chsisgeai mo phathadh a nochd." " Cha V eil floa," ars' am buachaille, " nach fasa sin a radh na dheanamh." Ach na cheile ghabh na fir-'a ana

88 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

an sin a Muí 'n crathadh lann. Ma dheireadh thall blia collas »ir gu'm faigheadli am fumhair buaidh air a bhaacbaille. 'N sin ghlaodh e air a chu, agiu le aon leum, rug an c'u dubh air amhaich air an fhamhair, 's gbrad bhuail am buachaille an ceann de.

Chaidh e dhachaidh g\e sgitli air an oidhche ao, ach nu'r thaing, mar a' robb bairme aig crodli an righ I 'a bha 'n teaghlach air fad со toilichte air son gun d' fhualr iad a' leithid so do bhuachaille. Lean e air a bbuachailleachd air an dbigh so rè nine ; ich oidhche 's e air tigliinn dhacbaidh, an bite do 'n bhanaraicli furan, 's faille 'chur air, 'a ann a bha iad air fad ri curaba 's ri bran. Dli' fhoighneachd e, de 'u t-aobhar brbin a bha' so an nocbd. Thubhairt a bhonarach, gu 'n robb beut mil..r le tri chinn 'san loch, agus gu 'n robb i ri aon fhuotuinn a h-uile bliadhna, agus gu 'n d' thuinig an crannchur am bliadhna air nighean an > u;h, " 's mu mheadhon latba 'inaireacb, Üia i ri coinneachainn na huile-bheist aig ceann shuas an loch ; ach lha suiriche mor an siud a tha Mul g'a tearnadh." " De 'n suiriche a tha ann ?" thubhairt am buaclioille. "Öl tha Seanalair miir airm," thubhairt a' bhanarach, " agus a nuair a mharbhas e 'bliebt, posai Jh e nighean an rïgli ; oir thubliairt an righ 'ge b'ö thoarnadh a nighean, KU 'faighcadli e l ri phbsadh." Ach air an latha 'maireacb,'nuair a bita ни t-ain a dlutliacbalnn, illi' fhalbh nighean an righ 's an gaisgeach airm so gu coinneamh a thabhairt do 'n bheist, 's rainig iad an Coire dubh aig ceann shnas an loch. Cha robb iad ach goirid an sin 'nuair a ghluais a bheist ann am meodhon an loch ; och air do'n t-Seannlair an t-uamhas beiste so fhaicinn le tri chinn, ghabh e eagal, 's shèap e air falbh 's dir fhalaich e e (¿in, 's bha nighean an righ fo chrith 's fo eagal, gun neach ann a thearnadh i. Süil do 'n d' thug 1, folcear bganach foghainteocb, dreachmhor a marcachd each dubh 's a' tighinn far an robb 1. Bha e air a sgeadachdhalnn gu h-anabarrach 's fo lim «rmachd 's an ch dubh a' siubhal 'na dheigh. " Tha gruaim air do ghnùU, a nighean," ars' an t-bganach; " dé tha thu deanadh an so?" " 0 ! 's coma sin, thubhairt nighean an rigli, cha 'n f had'a bhitheaa mi ann со dhiu." " Cha dubhairt mi sin," ars' esan. " Theich laoch cho coltach riutsa, 's cha 'n 'eil foda uaidhe," thubhairt isa. " 'Se looch a sheasaa Cath," are' an t-bganach. Shuidh e .-'ma lîiimh rithe 's thubhairt e rithe, " Na 'n tuiteadh esan 'na chadal, i ga 'dhíisgadh 'n uair a chitheudh 1 'bhc'ist a' deanamh air son i'ir." " De '» dusgadli dull," thubhairt ine ? " 'S dusgadh dhomh am fainne th' air do inliour a cliur air то lughdag." Cha b' f hatla bha ¡ml an tin, 'n uair u chunnaic i bildet а dcanamb gu tlr. Thug i 'm fliinne bhar a meur, 's chuir i air lughdag an bganaich e. Dhiiisg e, agus an coinneamb na Misto ghaüh e, le 'chlaidheamh 's le ch u ; ach 's ann an sin а bha

A MIIAKHIDKAN MEARA. 89

'n t-slupartakh ') an t-slapartaich eadar e fein 's a' bhíiet ; 'l bha 'n cii deanamh na b' nrrainn e, 'a bha nighean an r)gli air bhall-cbrith eagail le fuaim na Mute. Bhiodh lad uair faidhe 'a oair an uachdar, ach ma dheireadh, ghekrr o fear do na cinn di; thug i aon raibheic alite, 's ghoir mnc-talla nan creag d'à sgrönch, 'l chuir i 'n loch 'na la«/ii.r bho cheann gu ccann, ague ann am prioba na aula, chaidh i aa an t-»ealladh. " Piaeach 's buaidh gu 'n robh ga M' leantainn, <>gan- aich," araa nighean an rtgh, " tha mise akbhallt air son aon oidhche ; ach thig a bheút a r i this t, go brkth gns an d' thig an da cheann eile dhi." Bag e air ceann na Míate, agua tbarruing e gad roimhe 'a thubhairt e ríthe, " I ga' thabhairt leatha 'm mkireach an sud." Dh' f halbh i dhachaidh 's an ceann air a gnallainn, 'a thug am buachaille na mairt air. Ach cha b' f hada bha i air a' rathad, 'n uair a choin- nich an Seanalair mbr so i, agua thubhairt e rithe gu marbhadh e, i mur canadh i gnr eaan a thug an ceann do 'n bhéiit. " 01 ara' ¡M, 'a mi their I со eile ,'thug an ceann do 'n bheist ach Ihn." Rainig iad tigh an righ 's an ceann air guallainn an t-Seanalair ; ach 'a ann an ao a bha 'n t-aoibhneas, i 'thighinn dhachaidh beb slkn, ague ceann na Míate lau fola aig a Chaiptean mhbr so 'na Ikimh. Air an latha 'mkireach, dh'fhalbh lad, agns cha robh teagamh sam bith nach tekrnadh an gaisgeach ao nighean an rtgh. Rkinig iad an t-kite cendna, 's cha robh lad fad' an sin, 'n uair a ghluais an nile-bheist nilltril ann am meadhon an loch, 'a shèap an gaisgeaeh air falbh mar a rlnn «air an lath' do. Ach cha b' f had an ddigh ao, dur a tbkinig fear an eich dhuibh 's deis' eile air. Coma со dhiu, dh'altlinlch i giir e cheart bganaeh a ЫГ ann. " 'S mise tha toilichte d' f huicinn" an' lae, " tha ml 'n dochaa gu Ikimhsich tha do chlaldheamh mor an diugh mar a rinn thn 'n de ; thig a nloe 'a leig t-anail." Ach cha b' f hada bha lad an ain, 'n uair a chnnnaic iad a bhélat a totml am meadhon an loch. Lnidh an t-bganach Ao» ri taobh nighean an rtgh, 'a thubhairt e rithe, " Ma chaidleaa miae mu 'n d'thig a bhëiat, dhiag) mi." " De aa diugadh dhuit?" "'S duagadh dhomh a chlnais-fhajl sin a tha 'n » 'd' chínala, a г huir 'na mo the fein." Cha mhath a chaidil e 'n uair a ghlaodb nighean an righ, " Dhisg I dhiag I Ach dnsgadh cha deanadh e ; ach thug i chluaa-f hail aa a ciñáis, agua chuir i 'n cluaa an èganaich e, 's air ball dhhisg e, 's an car na Miste chaidh e ; ach 'a ann an sin a bha 'n t-slnpartaich 'a an t-alapartaich, raoiceil, 'a Uoiceil air a bh^isL Lean iad mar so rfr uine fad», 's mu bbcul na h-oidhcha, ghearr e 'n ceann eile do 'n Ihcisu Chuir e air k ghad e 'a lenm e air main an eich dhnibh, 's thug e 'bhuachailleachd air. Dh' f halbh nighean an rígh dhachaidh leis na cinn : tbachair an Seana- lair rito« 'a thug e naipe na ciño, 's thubhairt e r iihc, " Oa 'm feumadh

CO WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

i 'clmntainn gn 'm b' csan a thug an ceann do 'n bhéist air an uair so cuideachd." " Co eile a thug un ccann do 'n bliebt ach thu ?" thuirt iae. Roinlg lad tigh an rtgh leu na ciun, ach 's unn an ein a bha 'n t-aoibhneos 's an t-aighear. Ma bha an righ subhach an coud oidhche, bha a nil cinnteach gu 'n tearaadh an gaiageach mbr so a nighean, 'i cha robh teagainli ¿»in bith nach bitheadh an ceann eile do 'n blic'ist air an lath» maireach. Ma 'n am cheudna, clh' f halbh an dithis air an latha 'niaireach. Dh' f balaich an t-oiflgir e fein mar a b-abhaist : thug nighean an righ bruaich an loch oirre, 'i thainig gaiigeach an eich dhuibh, 's luidh e ri' taobh. Dhùisg i 'n t- ЫасЬ 'i chuir i cluaa-f hail 'na diluais eile agua ann am bad na bebte ghabh e. Ach ma bha raoiceil, i« 'stuoiceil air a bheist air na laith- ean a chaidh aeachad, 'a ann an diugh a bh.i 'n t-uamhas oirre. Ach coma со dhiu, thug e 'n treas ceann do 'n bliebt, 't ma thug cha b' ann gun spoJrn. Tharruing e го 'n ghad e, 's dir f halbh i dhachaidh leis na cinn. 'N uair a rainig iad tigh an righ, bha na h-uile Um gairdeachas, 's bha 'n Seanalair ri nighean an rtgh phbsadh air an ath latha. Bha bhanais a dol air a h-aghaidh '> gach neach ma 'n Chaiateal 's fadal air gua an d' tliigeadh an sagairt. Ach a nuair a tluünig an sagairt, cha phnaadh i ach an neach a bheircadh na cinn do 'n ghad gun an gad a ghearradh. " Co bheireadh na cinn do 'n glmd, ach am fear a chuir na cinn air'," tliubhairt an righ. Dh' f beuch an Seanalair iad, ach cha b-urrainn e,na cinn fhuasgladh; 's mu dhcireadh, cha robh a h'aon mu 'n tigh nach d' f beuch ris' na cinn a thoirt do 'n ghad, ach cha b-urrainn iad. Dh' f hoighneachd an righ, "An robh neach air bilh eile mu 'n tigh a dh' fheuchadh ris na cinn a thoirt bliar a ghaid." Tliubhairt iad, " Nach d' fhench am buuchaille fathast iad." Chaidh ños air a' bhuachaille, 'a cha b' fliada bha eaan a tilgeadh fear a null 's a null diubh. "Ach fan beagan bganaich," arsa nighean an righ : " am fear a thug na cinn do 'n bheist, tha 'm fuinne agam sa aige, agus mo dha chluais- f hail." Chuir am buachuille 'Ihiinh 'na plibca, 's tbilg e air a bhbrd lad. " S'-tusa mo dhuiue-sa," arsa nighean an righ. Cha robh an righ clio toilichte, 'n uair a chiinnalc e gu 'm b'e 'bhuachaille a bha ri' nighean a phbsadh ; ach dh' brduich e gu feum f a chur ann an trusgan ni b'f hearr. Ach labhair a nighean, 's tliubhairt i, " Gun robh trusgnn aige cho riomhach 'ч bha riamh 'na cbalsteal ; ague mur so thachair; chuir am buachuille del»' bir an f hamhair air, agua phbs iad air an oidhche sin fein.

Bha lad a nis pbsda 's na h-uile ni dol air aghaidh gn malth. Bha ¡ad aon lath' a spaisdearachd mu tliaobh an locha, 's thainig be"ist а b-uumhasuichc na 'n te eile, 's thugar air faibli e gun athadh gun

A MHÀIOHDBAN H HARÁ. 91

fhoighneachd. Illia nighean яп rtgh an ao gu dubhach, deurach, dalla-bhróíach air son a fear-poada. Bha i daonnan 'u aiiil air an loch. Thachair seana ghobha, rithe, 'i dh' innia i dha mar tliachair da celle-posd». Chomhairllch an gn)>ha .11,¡ i 'agaoUeadh gach ni bu bhrèagha na chifile anna a cheart ait« 'aan 'il' thug a bhlist air faibli a daine; agna mar ao rinn I. Cbuir a bhelat anaa a arbn, 'a thubbairt I, « 'S brcagh 'd' aillo as a nigbean an rtghe." "'S breagha naainan t-ailleagan a thug thu uam," thubhairt lie. "Tlioir dhomh aon sealladh do m' dlminc, 'a gheibh tliu aon ni do na tha (lui ïalclnn." Thug a'bhélat aoaa e. " Aisig dhomh e,'a gheibh thn na tha tha 'faicinn," ara' iae. Rinn a' bhélat mar a thubhairt I ; thllg i beo alan a air brnach an locha. Goirid 'na dheigh and, 'a iad a iraidimeachd rl taobh an loch, thag a bbélat clieudna air falbh nighean an rtgh. Bo bhrbnach gach neach a bha 'aa bhaile air an oldhche ao. Bha a duine gu dubhach, denracb, a' siubhal »los agua suie mu bhmarhan an locha a lalha 'a do dh' oidhche, Thachair an веапа ghobha ria. Dh' innia an pobha dha, Nach robb döigh air an nile-bheiat a mharbhadh, ach aon doigh, Agna 'a e aim " Anna an eilean 'tha am meadhon an locha tha eilid chaiafhionn aa caoile caa 'a aa lualth« cenm, agna ge do rachadh beirainn oirre, leumadh feannag aiade, agna ged a rachadh beirainn air an f heannag, leomadh breac aiade ; ach tha ubh am beul a bhric, agiia tha anam na btfiate 'aan ubh 'a ma bhriateaa an t-nbh, tha a' bhélat marbh." Mia cha robh dhlgli air faotalnn do 'n eilean ao, blio 'n chuireadh a bhrfiat foiilh gach bata 'a gach rath, a rachadh air an loch. Smaoin- Irh • gu 'm feachadh a 'n Caolaa a leum Ida an each dhubh, agna mar ao f nein rinn e. Learn ал t-each dubli an Caolaa, 'a an Cii dnbh la aon leum aa an delgh. Chunnaic e' n eilid, 'a leig e 'n cii dubh 'na dligh, ach an ualr a bhlodh an cli air aon taobh do 'n eilean bhiodh an eilid air an taobh eile. * OI bu mhath a nia madadh mor na cloaaiche febla an n>." Cha Inalthe 'labhair e 'm facal na bha 'm madadh coir ri' thaobh, agna an dtfgh na h-eilid ghabh e 'a cha !>' Г hada 'bha na laoich ga cuir ri talamh ; ach cha ha luaithe a rug e oirre, na leum feannag aiade; "'S ann a nia a bu mhath an t-«cobhag ghlaa aa gtire auil 'a ia Ikidire agiath." Cha loalthe thubhairt e ao, na bha 'n t-aeobhag aa déigh 'na feannaig, 'a cha b* f hada 'bha i ga cuir ri talamh ; agua air tuiteam do 'n f heannaig air broach an locha, a mach alude lenmtar am breac. " 01 nach robh thoa' agamaa a ni», a dhobhraln." Cha Inaitli' thubhairt na bha 'n dobhran ri thaobh, agua a mach alr an loch leum l, 'e thugar am breac a meadhon an loch ; Ach cha luaithe bha 'n doran air Or leía a bhreae na thainig an t-nbh a mach aa a bheul. Ghrad leum eaan, 'a choir e 'chaa air,

91 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

'S «in an «in a leig a bhcbt raoic aisde, 's Üiubbairt i, " Na brut an t-nbh, 'i gbeibh Um na dit' ¡arras tu." " Aisig dhömhaa mo bhean." Ann am prioba na silla bha i ri 'tliaobb. " Nuair a fliuair e gram air a laimh 'na dba' laimh, leig e chu air an abb, '» bhasaich a bhébt. Bha 'bheist marbh a nia, agus 'sann a ni» a bba 'n aealladh ri fbaicinn. Bba i namtuuach ri sealltainn oirre, bha na tri cbinn di gun teagamb, ach ma bba, bba ceann os-ceann cheann oirre, ague iuilean, '> cuig cend cas. Coma со dhiu, dh' fhag iad ann a 'sud i, 's chaidh iad dhachaidh. Bha solas is gbirdeachas ann an tigh an righ air an oidhche so, 's cha d' innis e do 'n righ gu so mar a mharbh e na famhairean. Cbuir an righ urram mor air, 's bha e 'na dhuiue mor aig an righ.

Bha e fein 's a' bhean a' sruidimeachd son latba, 'n uair a thug e fainear cai»teal beag ri taobh an loch, ann an coille. П1Г Шаг- raid e do 'n mhnaoi. Co bha gabbail cbmhnuidh ann ? " Thubh- airt i nach robb neoch air bith a' dol a choir a chaUteail ud, bho nach d'thainig neacli air ais fathast a chaidh ann a dh' innseadh sgeiiil." " Cha 'n fbaud a chuis a bbi mar sin," ara' esan ; " a nocbd fein chi mi, со' tha gabbail conhnuidh ann." "Cha d' theid, cha d' tlieid," thubhairt iae, "ulia deach duine riamh do 'n cha U teal so a phill air ais." " Biodh tin 's a roguaiun aige," ara' esan. Db' flialbh e, agus gabhar do 'n chai&teal 's M unir a rainig e 'n dorus, thacbair cailleach bbeag, bhrosgulach ris 'na seasamh san dorus. ' Fnran 's failte dhuit, a mhic an iasgair 's mi fein a tha toilichte t' fliaicinn ; 's mor an onair do 'n rioghachd so do leithid a thighinn innte ; 's urram do 'n bhothan bheag DO thu thighinn a stigh ; gabh a stigh air thoiseach,onair na h-uaisle, 's leig t' ¡tu ui l :" 's a steach ghabb e ; ach a nuair a bha e air tí dol suas, tharniiag i an alacan-druidh- eachd air an ciil a chinn, 's air ball limit e 'n sin. " Air an oidhche so blia brim ann an cuuteal an rlgb agus air an latha mhircach blia tulroadh ann an Ugh an iasgair. Chiinnacas a chraobh a soargadb 's thubhairt mac meadbonacb an iusgair, " gu 'n robb a bhrittbar marbh," 's thug e boid is briatbar gu falbhadh e s gu 'm biodh fios aige cait' an robh Corp a bhrhthar na luidhe. Chuir e dloUaid air each d H lib, 's mharcaich è an doigh a' choiu duibh (oir bha each dubh 's cu dubb aig tiiüir mhac an iasgair) ague gun dol a null na nail, lean e air ceum a bhrhthair bu sine, gus an drainig e tigh an righ. Bha e so со coltach ri 'bhrathair 's gu 'n d' shaoil le nighean an righ gu 'in be duine fein a bh' ann. Db' fhan e 'n so 'sa cbaisteal, 's dh' innis iad dha mar thachair d'à bhrathair, agus do chaisteal beag na cailliche dh' fheumadb e 'dol bog na crnaidb mar thachradh, 's do 'n, chaisteal chaidb e, ague ceart mar a thachair do 'n bhrathair bu sine,

A MIIAIGHHEAN Mil ARA 93

»nns gach dbigh thachair do 'n mhac mheadhonach, 'a le aon bhoille do 'n t-alacan dhruidheacbd, leag a' chailleach e na sliineadh ri' taobh a bhrathar. Air faicinn an darna craobh a' Margad h do mhac bg an iasgair thubhairt e, " Gu 'n robh a nb m dhithia bbrbitlirean marbh, agua gu' feumadh fins a blii aigeaan de 'm bhs a thainig orra. Air main an eich dhnibb, ghabh t, '« lean e 'n cii mar a rinn a bhralliair, agua tigh an ngb bhoail e mu 'n do atad e. 'Se 'n rtgh bba toil- ichte f hnirinn, ach do 'n chaiiteal dubh (oir 'se so alnm) cha Icigadh lad e, ach do 'n chaiateal, dh' f heamadh e dol, 'a mur ain rainig e 'n caisteal. * Faille 'i furan dliuit fein, a itihic an iaagair, 's mi tha toillichte t'f haicinn ; gabh a Bleach 's leig t-anail," thuirt iae. " 'Sllgh romham Ihu, a chailleach, 's coma leam eodal a mnlgh." " Räch • iteach 's cluinneam do chbmhradh. A' »t«ich, ghabh a chailleach, agna a nuair я blia chl rls, tharruing e a dilaldheamh 's spadar a ceann dhi, ach leara an claldheamh as a làlmh, 'a ghrad rag k chailleach air a ceann le a da laimh, s cuirear air a h-amhaich e mar' blia e roimlie. Learn an cii air a chaillich, 's bhuail l m 'madadh Cbir lela an t- slacan-dhruidheaehd, 'a loidh eaan an sin, ach cha deach so air mhith- apadh do 'n Mach, 'a an saa aa chaillich gabhar e. Fhuair e grelm air an t-shUoan-ilhruiclheachd, aguí le aon bhuille am mallach я ein n, bha l ri talamh ann am prioba na siil. Chaidh e beagan air aghaidh aoae, 'a faicear a dha bhralhair na 'n laidhe taobh ri taobh. Thag e baille do gach fear dhiubh, leia an t-alacan dhraidbeachd 's air an cois bha iad. Ach 's ann an so a bha 'n spnill bir 's airgid, 's gach ni bn Inachmhoire na chclle ann an caisteal na cailllche. Thainig iad air an als do thigh an rtgh, 's ann an sin a bha 'n ga-lrdeachas. Bha 'n righ a fas sean, agna chaldh mac bu ahine an iaagab: a chriinadh 'na rtgh, 's dh' f han an dlthis Mirai threan latha 's bliadhna ann an tigh an rtgh, 's dh' f halbh an dithis a nia dhachadh le br 's airgiud na Cailliche, 's gach n\ rtomhach eile 'thog an rtgh dhoibh ; 's mar do thuibhall iad oaidh sin, tha iad beo gus an latha 'n diugh.

HKCTOR UBQOHAKT.

2. Another Tersion оГ this WM told to me in South Diet, by Jon« МлсГшг, aged 79, in September 1859.

There waa a poor old 6sher in Skje, and his name waa Duncan. Ile waa ont fishing, and the aea-maiden rose at the niile of his boat, and said, " Duncan, thon art not getting fish." They had a long talk, and made a bargain ; plenty of fiah for hia first son. Dnt he said, " I h.ive none." Then the иа-maiden

94 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

gave him something, and laid, " Give tliti to thy wife, and this to thy mare, and this to thy dog, and they will hare three sons, three (ball, and three pups," and so they had, and the eldest son was Iain. When he was eighteen, he found his mother weeping, and learned that he belonged to the mermaid. "Oh," said he, "I will go where there is not a drop of salt water." So he mounted one of the horses and went away. Ho soon came to the carcass of an old horse, and at it a lion (Icon), a wolf (matugally), and a falcon (sbowag). LEOUIIAK-MADAAU ALLUIUU SZABIIAO or SEOBUAO.

The lion spoke, and she asked him to divide the carcass. He did so, and each thanked him, and said, " When thon art in need think of me, and I will be at thy side (or thou vilt be a lion, a wolf, or a falcon, I am uncertain which he meant), for we were here under spells till some one should divide this carcass for us."

He went on his way and became a king's herd. He went to a smith and bade him make him an iron staff. He made three. The two first bent, the third did well enough. He went a-herding, and found a fine grase park, and opened it and went in with the cattle. Гил-in of the seven heads, and seven humps, and seven necks, came and took six by the tails and went away with them (in Cacut dragged away cow« ly the tail). "Stop," said the berd. The FUATU would not, so they came to grips. Then the fisher's son either thought of the lion, or became one, but at all events a lion seized the giant and put him to earth. " Thine is my lying down and rising up," said ho. "What is thy ransom?" said the hurd. The giant said, " I have a white fllly that will go through the skies, and a white dress ; take them." Aud the herd took off his heads.

When he went home they had to send for carpenters to make dishes for the milk, there was so much.

The next day was the same. There came a giant with the same number of heads, and took eight cows by their tails, and slung them on his bock. The herd and the wolf (or as a wolf) beat him, and got a red filly that could fly through tho air, and a red dress, and cut off the heads. And there were still more carpenters wanted, there was so much milk.

The third day came a still bigger giant and took nine cows, and the herd at, or with a falcon, beat him, and got a green

THE SKA-MA l DK N. 9J

filly that would go through the sky, and a'green dress, and cut his heads off, and there vas innre milk than ever. •

On the fourth day came the Carlin, the wife of the last giant, and mother of the other two, and the fisher's son went up into а tree. " Come down till I eat thee," said «he. " Not I," said the herd. " Thon haut killed my husband and my two sons, come down till I eat thee," " Open thy mouth, then, till I jump down," said the herd. So the old Carlin opened her gab, and he thrust the iron staff down her throat, and it came out at a mole on her breast [thu it like the mole of the Onagach in No. 1], and she fell. Thon he sprang on her, and spoke as before, and got а basin, and when he washed himself in it, he would be the most beautiful man that was ever seen on earth, and a fino silver comb, and it would make him the grandest man in the world ; and he killed the Carlin and went home.

[So far thu agreti almoit exactly vith the next vertían, but títere it a giant added here and a coarte comb left out].

When the fisher's son came home, there was sorrow in the king's house, for the DRÀTOAH was come from the sea. Every time he came there was some one to be eaten, and this time the lot had fallen on the king's daughter.

The herd said that he would go to fight the dray gao, and the king said, "No : I cannot spare my herd." So the king's daughter hod to go alone. [ The incident of the cowardly knight il here lift ""'I Then the herd came through the air on the white filly, with the white dress of the Fuath. He tied the filly to the branch of a tree and went where the king's daughter was, and laid his head in her lap, and she dressed his bair, and he slept. When the draygan came she woke him, and after a severe battle he cut off one head, and the draygan said, " A hard fight tomorrow," and went away. The herd went off in the whit« filly, and in the evening asked about the battle, and heard his own story. Next day was the same with the red filly and the red dress, and the draygan said, " The last fight to-morrow," and he disappeared. On the third day she scratched a mark on his forehead when his head was in her lap : he killed the draygan, and when be asked about it all, there was great joy, for DOW the draygan was dead. Then the king's daughter had the whole kingdom gathered, and they took off their head clothes as they paated,

96 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

but tU.c wu iiu mark. Then they bethought them of the dirty herd, and when he came be would not put off Ms head gear, but she made him, and saw the mark, and said, " Thou mightest have a better dress." He used his magic comb and basin, and put on a dress, and was the grandest in the company, and they married. It fell ont that the king's daughter longed for dulse, and he went with her to the shore to seek it. The sea-maiden rose np and took him. She was sorrowful, and went to the soothsayer and learned what to do.

And she took her harp to the неа shore and sat and played, and the sea-maiden came up to listen, for sea-maidens are fonder of music than any other creatures, and when she saw the seamaiden she stopped. The sea-maiden said, " Play on ;" but she said, " No, till I see my man again." So the sea-maiden put up his head. ( What do you mean f Out of her mouth to be ture. She had ¡wallowed him.) She played again, and stopped, and then the sea-maiden put him up to the waist. Then ehe played again and stopped, and the sea-maiden placed him on her palm. Then he thought of the falcon, and became one and flew on shore. But the sea-maiden took the wife.

Then he went to the soothsayer, and he said, " I know not what to do, but in a glen there is TABBH NIMH, a hurtful hull, and in the bull a ram, and in the ram a goose, and in the goose an egg, and there is the soul of the sea-maiden."

Then he called on his three creatures, and by their help got the goose, but the egg fell out in the loch.

Then the lion said iltc know not what to do, and the wolf said the same. The falcon told of an otter in an inland, and flew and seized her two cubs, and the otter dived for the egg to (ave lier cubs. He got his wife, and dashed the egg on the stones, and the mermaid died. And they scut for the fisher and his sons, and the old mother and brothers got part of the kingdom, and they were all happy and lucky after that.

I asked if there was anything about ono brother being taken for the other and the naked sword, and was told that tho incident was in another story, as well as that of the withering of the three trees. These incidents were in the version of the stable boy ; and as they are in Mackenzie's, they probably belong to the story as it was known in Argyllshire.

TUB БЕЛ-MAIDEN. 97

8. Another version оГ this was told in April 1859, by John MacGibbon, a lad who WAS rowing me «crone Loch Fyne, from 8t. Katherine'« to Invcrary ; he laid he had heard it from an old man living near Lochgilphead, who could tell many stories, and knew part of the history of the Feine.

The bero was the son of a widow, the yonngest of ten ; black- skinned and rough "carrach." He went to seek bis fortune, and after adventures somewhat like those of the heroes in the other versions, he became like them a king's herd, and was in like manner beset by giants who claimed the pasture. Each fight was preceded by a long and curious parley across a ditch. The giants got larger each day, and last of all cnme the wife of one, and mother of the other two, who was wont of all.

lie got spoil from each, which the conquered giant named as his ransom, and which, as usual, the herd took after killing bis foe. From the mother ho got a " golden comb, and when he combed his hair with the fine side, he was lovely, and when he combed it with the coarse side, he was hideous again," and a magic basin which made him beautiful when ho washed in it. And he got wonderful arms, and dresses, and horses from the giants.

Then the king's daughter was to be given to a giant with three heads who came in a ship. When ho leaped on shore, he buried himself to the waist, ho was so heavy. The herd was asleep with his head in the lap of the princess, and dressed in the giant's spoil, combed with the fine gold comb, and washed in the magic basin, and beautiful, but nevertheless the princess dressed his hair.

He was awakened each day by biting a joint off his little finger—cutting a patch from the top of his head—and a notch from his ear. Each day he cut off a head, and the giant, when he leaped from the ship on the third day, only sunk to his ancles in the sand, for he had lost two heads.

The third head jumped on again as fast as it was cnt off, but at lapt, by the advice of a hoodie, the cold steel of the sword was held on the neck till the marrow froze, and then the giant was killed, and the herd disappeared as usual.

A red-headed lad, who went to guaní the princess, ran away and hid himself, and took the credit each day, but he could not

Ç WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

untie the knote with which the heads were bonnd together on a withy by the hard. Then when all the kingdom had been gathered, the herd was Bent for, but he would not come, and he hound three parties of men who were sent to bring him by force.

At last he was entreated to come, and came, and was recognized by the marks, and then he combed his hair, and washed in the magic basin, and dressed in the giant's spoils, and he married the princess, and the Oillo Rnadh was hanged.

Hero the story ended, hut so did the passage of the ferry.

4. I have another version written by Hector Maclean, from the dictation of a woman, B. Macaskill, in the small ¡aland of Berneray, Aug. 1859.—MAC л. (¡нипил, The Smith's Son.

A smith takes the place of the old fisherman. The mermaid rises beside his boat, gets the promise of the son, and sends him fish. (Tlie three myiteriout grain» are omitted). One son is born to tho fisher, and tlio luormaid lots him remain till ho is fourteen years of nge.

I'll л 'к OILLE 'N SO СПО HÖR ЛЯ CEAUHIC HAN <'K¡ nur. BLIADRMA DIAOl ClIA KO1IH LEITH1D RE FHAIOHIH CUO MOB 'b CUO OAEBH 'S CIIO FOOH A1NTEACII Big.

The lad was now to big at the end of the 14 years I His like was not to be found, so big, so rugged, so formidable as he.

Then he asked his father not to go in the wind of the shore or the sea, for fear the mermaid should catch him, and to make him a staff in which there should be nine stone weight of iron ; and he went to seek his fortune. His father made him the staff, and he wont, and whom should ho meet but UADAUII BUADII the fox, MADAUII Ai.i.tnmi the wolf, AOUS AH KHEAMNAO. and the hoodie, AOO8 ОТПАЮО AOA OA ii'iTREADB, and eating я year old sheep. He divided the sheep, and the creatures promised to help him, and he went on to a castle, where he got himself employed ae a herd, and was sent to a park ; " no man ever came alive out of it that evor went into it."

Л big giant camo and took away ono of tho cows, and thon (ЗАПАЮ) a fight began, and the herd was undermost, AQUÍ DE

RINN AH IIUACIIAILI.' ACH OUIUIINEACIIADII A1B А МПЛПЛШ1 ALLCIDH AOUS (HIllAli! B1IA '.4 DUAOI1A1LL AM AIRD AOUS AU

AOUS ШГАКВ11 E 'и FUAMHAiR, and «hat did the

THE SKA-MAIDEN. ' 99

herd bat remember the wolf, and swift ! the herd was above and the giant below, »nd he killed the giant, and went home with the cattle, and hie master said to the ВАМАСНАОАЯ, " Oh, be good to the herd." (The ipoil, the drena, and the horia are here all ttfl out). The second day it was the same, and be again thought of the wolf, and conqncrrd after he was down.

The third day it was again the same. On the fourth day CAILLEACH HHOR a great carlin came. They fought, and he was undermost again, but thought of the wolf and was up. BAS AS DO CHIONN A CHAILLBACH ARS AM RUACHAILLE DE' т' EIRIO. ?•

"Death on thy top, Carlin," said the herd, "what's thy value?" " That it not little," said the Carlin, " if thou geltest it. I have throe твиисАияАм (an Englith word with a Gaelic plural) full of surer. There is a trunk under the foot-board, and two others in the upper end of the castle." "Though that be little, its my own," said he as he killed her.

On the morrow the king's daughter was to go to the great beast that was on the loch to be killed, and what should the herd do but draw the cattle that way, and be laid his bead in her lap and slept, but first told the lady, when she saw the loch trembling, to take off ajoint of his little finger. She did so. He awoke, thought of the fox, and took a head, a hump, and a neck off the beast, and he went away, and no one knew that he had been there at all. Next day was the same, but he had a patch cut from his head.

The third day she took off the point of his ear, he awoke, was again beaten by the beast, thought of the fox, and was uppermost, and killed the beast (s' BHA i HA LOTH UISOR n' OAIR A ми л RBÍI в i) and she was a fresh water lake when he had killed her.

( The cowardly genero!, or knight, or lad, or tenant, in here left out.) Then the king's daughter gare ont that she wonld marry the man whose finger fitted the joint which she had cut off and kept in her pocket. Everybody came and cut off the points of their little fingers, but the herd staid away till it was. found out by the

• EIRIO, a fine for bloodshed, a ransom. Fine anciently paid for the murder of any person. SeoUith Laua—Jirgiam Ma- jfttam : (Armstrong die.) The Lau» of the Brett and Scott, in which every one was valued according to his degree (Innea's " Scotland in the Middle Agei").

I 00 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

dairymaids that he wanted the joint, and then he саше and married the lady.

After they were married they went to walk by the shore, and the mermaid rose and took him away. " It U long eince thou wert promised to me, and DOW I have thee perforce," said ehe. Au old woman advised the lady to spread all her dresses on the beach, and she did so in the evening, ami the mermaid came, and for the dresses gave back her companion, " and they went at each other's nocks with joy and gladness."

In a fortnight the wife was tukcn away, "and sorrow was not sorrow till now—the lad lamenting his wife." Ho went to an old man, who said, " There is a pigeon which has laid in the top of а tree; if thou couldst find means to break the egg AMAIL, the breath of the mermaid is in it.'' SM AOINTICH в AIK AN FHEAN-

NA HI 'g ОНАШН В NA Flu. ANNA III '(4 I.KUJI E QO BABR MA CBAO1BIIE.

He thought on the hoodie, and he became a hoodie (went into hit Itoodie), and he sprang to the top of the tree, and ho got the egg, and he broke the egg, and his wife came to shore, ami the mer- inaid was dead.

It is worth remarking the incidents which drop out of the story when told by women and by men. Here the horses and armour are forgotten, but the faithful lover is remembered. The sword is a stick, and the whole thing savours strongly of the every-day experience of the Western leles, which lias to do with fishing, and herding sheep and cattle. It is curious also to remark the variations in the incidents. The hero seems to acquire the qualities of the creatures, or be assisted by them.

5. I have another Torsion from Barra, but it varice во much, and has so many new incidents, that I must give it entire, if at nil, It most resembles MacQibbon's version. It is called AN 'т IASOAIK the fisher, and was told by Alexander MacNeill, fisherman.

6.1 have a sixth version told by John Smith, labourer, living at Polcbar in South Uist, who says he learned it about twenty years ago from Angus Macdonald, Dalnish. It is called Ли un.i.o GI.AH, tliu Qray lad. lie is a widow's son, goes to seek his fortune, goes to a smith, and gets him to make an iron shinny (that it a hockey dul), be becomes herd to a gentleman, herds cattle, and is beset by giants whom he kills with his iron club ; he gathers the skirt of his grey cassock (which laolci like Odin), he gets a copper

ТНК SEA-MAIDEN. IOI

and a silver and a golden castle, servants (or slaves) of various colour and appearance, magio whistles, horses, and dressée, and rescues the daughter of the king of (.¡recce. The part of the cowardly knight is played by a rod headed cook. The language of this is curious, and the whole тегу wild. Unless given entire, it is spoilt.

In another «lory, also from Berneray, the incident of meeting three creatures again occurs.

There is a lion, a dove, and a rat. And the lion enys :—

" What, lad, ¡в thy notion of myself being in inch a place aa this?"

" Well," said he, " I have no notion, but that it is not there the like of yon might to be ; but about the banks of rivers."

It is impossible not to share the astonishment of the lion, and but for the fact that the rat and the dove were as much surprised at their position as the lion, one would be led to suspect that Margaret MacKinnon, who told the story, felt that her lion was out of his element in Berneray. Still he is there, and it seems worth inquiring how he and the story got there and to other strange placet.

lit. Th« story is clearly the same as ShorUhanks in Dasent's Norso Tales, 1869- Dot it is manifest that it is not taken from that book, for it could not have become to widely spread in the islands, and so changed within the time.

3d. It resembles, in some particulars, the Two Brothers, the White Snake, the Nix of the Mill Pond, the Ball of Crystal, in Orimm ; and them are similar incidents in other Qerman tales. These have long been published, but I never heard of a copy in the west, and many of my authorities cannot read. It is only necessary to compare any one of the Garlic versions with any one Gorman lale, or all together, to feel certain that Grimm's collection is not the source from which this story proceeded.

3d. A story in the latent edition of the Arabian Nights (Lane's, 1839), contains the incident of a genius, whose life wan not in bis body, but in a chest at the bottom of the Circumambient Ocean, but that book is expensive, and quite beyond the reach of peasant« and fishermen in the went, and the rest of the story is different.

4lh. There is something in Sanscrit about a fight for cattle

IO2 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

between a herd and some giants, which has been compared with the classical story of Cacus.—(Mommsen's Human History).

5th. I am told that there is an Irish " fenian " story which this resembles. I have not yet seen it, but it is said to be taken from а тегу old Irish MS. (Ossianic Society).

6th. It is clearly the same as the legend of St. George and the Dragon. It is like the classical story of Perseus and Andromeda, but Pegasus is multiplied by three, and like the story of Hercules and Hesione, but Hercules was to have six horses. On the whole, I cannot think that this is taken from any known story of any one people, but that it is the Gaelic version of some old myth. If it contains something which is distorted history, it seems to treat of a seafaring people who stole men and women, and gave them back for a ransom, of a wild race of "giants "who stole cattle and horses, and dresses, and used combs and basins, and had grass parks; and another people who had cattle, and wanted pasture, and went from the shoru in on the giants' land.

If it bo mythical, there is the egg which contains the life of the sea-monster, and to got which beast, bird, anil fish, earth, air, and water, must bo overcome. Fire may be indicated, for the word which I have translated SPINDRIFT LABAIR, generally means flame.

I am inclined to think that it is a very old tale, a mixture of mythology, history, and everyday life, which may once have been intended to convey the moral lesson, that small causes may produce great effects ; that men may learn from brutes, Courage from the lion and the wolf, Craft from tho fox, Activity from the falcon, and that the most despised object often becomes the greatest. The whole story grows out of a grain of seed. The giant's old mother is more terrible than the giants. The little flattering crone in the black castle more dangerous than the sea monster. The herd thought of the wolf when he fought the giants, but be thought of the fox when he slew the dragon. I can but say with the tale tellers, " dh, fhàg mise n' siu end." " There I left them," for others to follow if they choose. I cannot say how the story got to tho Highlands, and the lion into tho mind of a woman in Вегпегау.

CONALL CRA BHUIDHK

From James Wileon, blind fiddler, Ыпу.

riONALL СИЛ. BIIUIDIIE woe o sturdy tenant in ^ Eirinn : ho had four sons. Tlioro woe at that time a kiiig over every fifth of Eirinn. It fell out for tho children of the king that was near Conall, that they themselves and tho children of Conall camo to blows. The children of Conall got the upper hand, and they killed the king's big son. The king sent a message for Conall, and he said to him—" Oh, Conall ! what made thy sons go to spring on my sons till my big son woe killed by thy children ? but I see that though I follow thco revengefully, I shall not bo much the bettor for it, and I will now set a tiling before thee, and if thou wilt do it, I will not follow thee with revenge. If thou thyself, and thy sons, will get for me the brown horse of the king of Lochlann, thou ehalt get the souls of thy sons." "Why," said Conall, " should not I do the pleasure of tho king, though there should be no souls of my sons in dread at all Hard is the matter thou requircst of me, but I will lose my own b'fo, and the life of my sons, or else I will do the pleasure of the king."

After these words Conall left the king, and he went home: when he got home he was under much trouble and perplexity. When he went to lie down he told his wife the thing the king hod set before him. His wife took much sorrow that he was obliged to part from herself,

104 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

while she knew not if she should see him more. " Oh, Conall," said she, " why didst not thou let the king do his own pleasure to thy sons, rather than be going now, while I know not if ever I shall see thee more?" When he rose on the morrow, he set himself and liis four sons in order, and they took their journey towards Lochlann, and they made no stop but (were) tearing ocean till they reached it. When they reached Lochlann they did not know what they should do. Said the old man to his sons—" Stop ye, and we will seek out the house of the king's miller."

When they went into the house of the king's miller, the man asked them to stop there for the night Conall told the miller that his own children and the children of the king had fallen out, and that his children had killed the king's son, and there was notliing that would please the king but that he should get the brown horse of the king of Lochlann. " If thou wilt do me a kindness, and wilt put mo in a way to get him, for certain I will pay thee for it" " The thing is silly that thou art come to seek," said the miller ; " for the king has laid his mind on him eo greatly that thou wilt not get him in any way unless thou steal him ; but if thou thyself canst make out a way, I will hide thy secret" " This, I am thinking," said Conall, " since thou art working every day for the king, that thou and thy gillies should put myself and my sons into five sacks of bran." " The plan that came into thy head is not bad," said the miller. The miller spoke to his gillies, and he said to them to do tliis, and they put them in five sacks. The king's gillies came to seek the bran, and they took the five sacks with them, and they emptied them before the horses. The servants locked the door, and they went away.

When they rose to lay hand on the brown horse,

CONALL CRA ВПСШНЕ. 105

said Conall, " You shall not do that It is bard to get out of this ; let us make for ourselves five hiding holes, so that if they perceive us -we may go in hiding." They mode the holes, then they laid hands on the horse. The horse was pretty well unhroken, and he sot to making a terrible noise through the stable. The king perceived him. He heard the noise. " It must be that that was my brown horse," said he to his gillies ; " try what is wrong with him."

The' servante went out, and when Conall and his sons perceived them coming they wont into the lading liólos. The servants looked amongst the horses, and they did not find anything wrong ; and they returned and they told this to the king, and the king said to them that if nothing wan wrong that they should go to their places of rest When the gillies had time to be gone, Conall and his eons laid the next hand on the horse. If the noise was great that ho made before, the noise he made now was seven times greater. The king sent a message for his gillies again, and said for certain there was something troubling the brown horse. " Go and look well about him." The servants went out, and they went to their hiding holes. The servants rummaged well, and did not find a thing. They returned and they told this. " That is marvellous for me," said the king : " go you to lie down again, and if I perceive it again I will go out myself." When Conall and his sons perceived that the gillies were gone, they laid hands again on the horse, and one of them caught him, and if the noiso that the horse mad« on the two former times was great, he made more this time.

" Be this from mo," said the king ; " it must be that some one is troubling my brown horse." He sounded the bell hastily, and when his waiting man come to him, ho said to him to set the stable gillies on

I Об WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

foot that something was wrong with the horse. Tho gillies came, and the king went with them. When Conall and his sous perceived the following coming they went to the hiding holes. The king was a wary man, and he saw whore the horses were making a noise. " Be clever," said the king, " there are men within the stuhlo, and let us gut them somehow." Tho king followed the tracks of the men, and ho found them. Every man was acquainted with Conall, for ho was a valued tenant by the king of Eirinn, and when the king brought them up out of the holes he said, "Oh, Conall, art thou here 1" "I am, О king, without question, and necessity made me come. I am under thy pardon, and under thine honour, and under thy grace." He told how it happened to him, and that he had to get the brown horse for the king of Eirinn, or that his son was to bo put to death. " I knew that I should not get him by asking, and I was going to steal him." " Yes, Coimll, it is well enough, but come in," said the king. He desired his look-out men to set a watch on the sons of Conall, and to give them meat. And a double watch was set tliat night on the sons of ConalL "Now, 0 Conall," said the king, " wort thou over in a harder place than to bo seeing thy lot of sons htingcd to-morrow 'Í Itul thou didst set it to my goodness and to my grace, and that it was necessity brought it on thee, and I must not hang thee. Tell me any cose in which thou wert as hard as this, and if thou teilest that, thou sholt get the soul of thy youngest son with tliea" " I will toll a case as hard in which I was," said Conall.

"I was a young lad, and my father had much land, and he had parks of year-old cows, and one of them hod just calved, and my father told me to bring her home. I took with me a laddie, and we

fcnm¿ fie со«, жас -«с toot bar жиг IK. Tien» ieE я «bow« of шкпг- Ve -wen: л. к птгггТ « Ъгсх-т.. жпс -v» took Чая- eow «lie tut oitf JE -»na. -ns. жпс w* -«тек fessmc tu* eiiuwer -JUBF irme IK. Viue cmnt m Ъш one cat жпс «L. eue о» ствв nnt-prnt iox-coJntmd dt ав îiead Ъитс* п*чг îiiem. W ¡ко. ант mm» -m ja »err ôeed I пгг»а£ bac лг likrrir ifir тлшг еоптягт. ' Strike nj' VOL TOC.* «ait ait Ьаш Ъато. * ж!т sbncld «e Ъе etil Т жва кис » спшкв » С-сошБ Сл-ВЬш.' I «ж« жшжжж ыш! ITT лш» 'W Lui г» д lo ibe o» Цюшяйтф. ^* нов ùifT bac шит ti» сгтшв. мое the bead Ъпго. ' íípw, О СшаЛ. ysj ù» irmcrà of tbt «гстжи ùiat UK ce» hire яте te- liwe.* ' W ¿L iban,' cod I иггввН. ' I Ьат* во rrwxi vbateocrer for то«, rnnlt» TOB KboTÙd go â?n mud take ütat «att* K* •схяиг cud I tbe •word Una tb* two cat* and *«» v«Kd dcrv» to aUack Uie call and, ш тву <k«d, Ь* did жЫ bet икав kmg. 'Play up vitb we, why abonud той be eleat I lilake a arman to Conall Стя-ВЬш,' «aid the bead ban! Certainly I bad no liking at all for the cronan, bat «p cane I bo one cat and tea, and if they did not ring пи a cronan then and Utere ! 'Pay them now their rewmni,' sa:d the fox-coloured cat. ' I am tared myself of and your rewarda,' aaid L ' I bar« no Rwvd for you unie» yon take that cow down there.' Thor lxM<x>k themaelree to the cow, and indeed she did not stand them oat for long.

" ' Why will yoa be silent I Go ap and sing a cro- nan to Conall Cra-Bhui,' «aid the head bard. And •only, oh, king, I had no саго for them or for their cronan, for I began to soe that they wer« not pxxl o^m- radea. When they had sung me the cronau they bolook themselvee down where the head bard was. ' Гпу • Or commander in<biof.

IOS WEST HIGHLAND TALBS.

now their reward,' said the head bard ; and for sure, oh, king, I had no reward for them ; and I said to them, ' I have no reward for you, unless you will take that laddie with you and make use of him.' When the boy heard this he took himself out, and the cats after him. And surely, oh, king, there was " striongan " and catterwauling between them. When they took themselves out, I took out at a turf window that was at the back of the house. I took myself off as hard as I might into the wood. I was swift enough and strong at that time ; and when I felt the rustling ' toirm' of the cats after me I climbed into as high a tree as I saw in the place, and (one) that was close in the top ; and I hid myself as well as I might The cats began to search for me through the wood, and they were not finding me ; and when they were tired, each one said to the other that they would turn back ' But,' said the one-eyed fox-coloured cat that was commander-in- chief over them, ' you saw him not with your two eyes, and though I have but one eye, there's the rascal up in the top of the tree.' When he had said that, one of them wont up in the tree, and as ho was coming where I was, I drew a weapon that I had and I killed him. ' Bo this from me ! ' said the one-eyed one—' I must not be losing my company thus ; gather round the root of the tree and dig about it, and let down that extortioner to earth.' On this they gathered about her (the tree), and they dug about her root, and the first branching root that they cut, she gave a shiver to fall, and I myself gave a shout, and it was not to bo wondered at There was in the neighbourhood of the wood a priest, and he had ten men with him delving, and he said, ' There is a shout of extremity and I must not be without replying to it.' And the wisest of the men said, ' Let it alone till we hear it again.' The cats

OONALL CRA DBUIDHE. 1OÇ

began, and they began wildly, and they broke the next root ; and I myself gave the next shout, and in very deed it was not weak. ' Certainly,' said the priest, ' it is a man in extremity—let us move.' They were setting themselves in order for moving. And the cats arose on the tree, and they broke the third root, nnd the tree fell on her elbow. I gave the third shout Tho stalwart men hasted, and when they saw how the cate served the tree, they began at them with the spades ; and they themselves and the cats began at each other, till they were killed altogether—the men and the cats. And surely, oh king, I did not move till I saw the last one of them falling. I came homo. And there's for theo the hardest case in which I ever was ; and it seems to me that tearing by the cats wore harder than hanging to-morrow by the king of Lochlann.

" Od ! ConalV said the king, " thou art full of words. Thou hast freed the soul of thy son with thy tale ; and if thou teilest mo a harder case than thy throe sons to bo hanged to-morrow, thou wilt got thy second youngest Ron witli thoo, and then thou wilt have two sons." " Well then," said Conall, " on condition that thou dost that, I was in a harder case than to be in thy power in prison to-night" " Let's hear," said the king.—" I was there," said Conall, " as a young lad, and I went out hunting, and my father's land was beside the sea, and it was rough with rocks, caves, and gees.* When I was going on the top of the shore, I saw as if there were a smoke coming up between two rocks, and I began to look what might be the meaning of the smoke coming up there. When I was looking, what should I do but fall ; and the place was so full of manure, that neither bone nor skin was broken, I knew not how I should get out of this. I was not • RilU or chasm», «boro the «ca enter«. •*•

110 WEST HIGHLAND TALEH

looking before roe, but I was looking over head the way I came—and the day will never «юте that I could get up there. It was terrible for me.to be there till I should dia I heard a great clattering ' tuarneileis' coming, and what was there but a great giant and two dozen of goats with him, and a buck at their head. And when the giant hod tied the goats, he came up and he said to mo, ' Ilao 0 ! Conall, it's long since my knife is rusting in my pouch waiting for thy tender flesh.' ' Och ! ' said I, ' it's not much thou wilt be bettered by me, though thou should'st tear me asunder ; I will make but one meal for thee. But I see that thou art one-eyed. I am a good leech, and I will give thee the sight of the other eye.' The giant went and ho drew the great caldron on the site of the fire. I myself was telling him how ho should heat the water, so that I should give its sight to the other eye. I got heather and I made a rubber of it, and I set him upright in the caldron. I began at the eye that was well, pretending to him that I would give its sight to the other one, till I left them as bad as each other ; and surely it was easier to spoil the one that was well than to

* give sight to the other.

"When ho 'saw' that ho could not see a glimpse, and when I myeclf said to him that I would got out in epito of him, he gave that spring out of the water, and he stood in the mouth of the cave, and he said that he would have revenge for the sight of his eye. I had but to stay there crouched the length of the night, holding in my breath in such a way that he might not

• fool whore I was.

" When ho felt the birds calling in the morning, and knew that the day was, he said—' Art thou sleeping t Awake and let out my lot of goats.' I killed the buck. He cried, ' I will not believe that thou art not killing

CONALL CHA BHUIDHE. 111

my back.' ' I am not,' said I, ' but the ropes are so tight that I take long to loose them.' I let out one of the goats, and he -was caressing her, and ho said to her, ' There them art thou shaggy, hairy white goat, and thou eeest me, but I see thce not' I was lotting them out by the way of one and one, as I flayed the buck, and before the last one was out I had him flayed bay tout. Then I went and I put my legs in place of his legs, and my hands in place of his fore legs, and my , ' head in place of his head, and the horns on top of my ', | head, so that the brute might think that it was the )'•'• buck. I went out When I was going out the giant с *• ' laid his hand on me, and he said, ' There thou art thou pretty buck ; thou seest me, but I see thee not' When I myself got out, and I saw the world about me, surely, oh, king ! joy was on me. When I was out and had shaken the skin off me, I said to the brute, ' I am out now in spite of thee.' ' Aha ! ' said he, ' host thou done this to me. Since thou wert so stalwart that thou hast got ont, I will give thro a ring that I have hero, and keep tho ring, and it will do tlioo good.' ' I will not ^' take tho ring from thee,' said I, ' but throw it, and I will take it with me.' He threw the ring on the flat ground, I went myself and I lifted the ring, and I put it on my finger. When he said me then. ' Is the ring fitting thee 1 ' I said to him, ' It is.' He said, ' Where art thou ring Г And the ring said, 'I am here.' The brute went and he betook himself towards where tho ring wag speaking, and now I saw that I was in a harder cose than ever I was. I drew a dirk. I cut tho finger olf from mo, and I threw it from me as far as I could out on the loch, and there was a great depth in the place. He ehoutcd, 1 Where art thou, ringV And the ring said, 'I am here,' though it was on the ground of ocean. Ho gave a spring after tho ring, and out he wont in tho sea.

I I 2 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

And I was as pleased here when I saw him drowning, as though t linn ehouldst let my own life and the life of my two sons with me, and not by any more trouble on me.

" When the giant was drowned I went in, and I took with me all he had of gold and silver, and I went home, and surely great joy was on my people when I arrived. And as a sign for thee, look thou, the finger is off me."

" Yes, indeed, Conall, thou art wordy and wise," said the king. " I see thy finger ЕГоТГГ Thou "Hast freed thy two sons, but tell me a case in which thou ever wert that is harder than to be looking on thy two eons being hanged to-morrow, and thou wilt get the soul of thy second eldest son with theo."

"Then went my father," said Conall, "and he got me a wife, and I was married. I went to hunt I was going beside the sea, and I saw an island over in the midst of the loch, and I came there where a boat was with a rope before her and a rope behind her, and many precious things within her. I looked myself on the boat to see how I might get part of them. I put in the one foot, and the other foot was on the ground, and when I raised my head what was it but the boat over in the middle of the loch, and she never stopped till she reached the island. When I went out of the boat the boat returned where she was before. I did not know now what I should do. The place was without meat or clothing, without the appearance of а house on it. I raised out on the top of a hill I came to a glen ; I saw in it, at the bottom of a chasm, a woman who had got a child, and the cliild was naked on hur knee, and a knife in her hand. She would attempt to put the knife in the throat of the babe, and the babe would begin to laugh in her face, and she would begin

COJÏALL СПЛ BHUIDHB. I I 3

to cry, and she would throw the knife behind her. I v thought to myself that I was nrar my foe and far from my friends, and I called to the woman, ' What art thou doing here Г And she said to me, ' What brought thee höre t* I told lier myself word upon word how I came. 'Well thou,' Raid she, 'it was so I came also.' She showed шо to the placo whore I should como in whore she was. I went in, and I said to her, ' What was in fault that thou wert putting the knife on the neck of the child.' ' It is that he must be cooked for the giant who is here, or else no more of my world will be before me.' I went up steps of stairs, and I saw a chamber full of stripped corpses. I took a lump out of the corpse that was whitest, and I tied a string to the child's foot, and a string to the lump, and I put the lump in his mouth, and when it went in his throat he would give a stretch to his leg, and he would take it out of his throat, but with the length of the thread he could not take it out of his mouth. I cast the child into a basket of down, and I asked her to cook the corpse for the giant in' place of the child. ' How can I do that Г said she, ' when he has count of the corpses.' 'Do thou as I ask thee, and I will strip myself, and I will go amongst the corpses, and then lie will have the same count,' said L She did as I asked her. We put the corpse in the great caldron, but we could not put on the lid. When he was coming home I stripped myself, and I wout amongst the corpses. He came home, and she served up the cori>so on a great platter, and when ho ate it ho was complaining that he , found it too tough for a child.

" ' I did as thou asked me,' said she. ' Thou hadst

count of the corpses thyself, and go up now and

count them.' He counted them and ho hod them. ' I

see ono of a white body there,' said he. I will lie

I I 4 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

down a while and I will have him when I wake. When lie rose he went up and gripped me, and I never was in such a case as when he was hauling me down the stair with my head after me. He threw me into the caldron, and ho lifted the lid and he put the lid into the caldron. And now I was sure I would scald before I could get out of that. As fortune favoured me, the brute slept beside the caldron. There I was scalded by the bottom of the caldron. When sho perceived that ho was asleep, she set her mouth quietly to the hole that was in the lid, and she said to mo ' was I alive.' I said I was. I put up my head, and the brute's forefinger was so large, that my head went through easily. Everything was coming easily with me till I began to bring up my hips. I left the ekin of my hips about the mouth of the hole, and I came out. When I got out of the caldron I knew not what to do ; and sho said to mo that there was no weapon that would kill him but his own weapoa I began to draw his spear, and every breath that he would draw I would think I would be down his throat, and when his breath came out I was back again just as far. But with every ill that befell me I got the spear loosed from him. Then I was as one under a bundle of straw in a great wind, for I could not manage the spear. And it was fear- :, ful to look on the brute, who had but one eye ) (: in the midst of his face ; and it was not agreeable for the like of me to attack him. I drew the dart as best I could, and I set it in his eye. When he felt this ho gave his head a lift, and he struck the other end of the dart on the top of the cave, and it wont through to the bock of his head. And ho foil cold dead where ho was ; and thou ruayest bo sure, oh king, that joy was on ma I myself and the woman went out on clear ground, and wo passed the night there. I wont

•ad got the boat with wnicfc I свае, and aie was no

^РЯТ иСОХеВвОв аЯО lOQK tDB ^ЧаивИ Hfefl tBB Culjfl OVVF OH uTT land ', afid I IVtBTDBO ЛОШС.

The king's »other те putfeag en a fire at this time, and listening to ConaD teiimg the tale aboet the child. *b it thon," aaid abe, -that vert tbe*r «Wefl the*,'«»d be, "'twas L" ш ОеЬ ! веЪ I" mad "twm l tfast «• Üee, awl aie king » ta« child

whose lue thm dickt an« ; and it i§ to thee that ufe ^ ' thank* night be giren." Ibón they took gnat joy.

The king and « (А СошЛ, tboa eaeet through \.- grest hardihipa- And now Ute brown hone ii thine, mad his mci foil of the mo*t ргкаом things that are _ in m т treanuj."

They lay down that night» and if it WM early that Conall том, it VM earlier than that that the queen wae on foot making ready. He got the brown hone and his sack full of gold and surer and atones of great price, and then Conall and hi« four sons went away, and they returned home to the Erin realm of glndium He left the gold and nilvcr in the house, aud lie went with the hone to the king. They were good friends evermore, He returned home to his wife, and they set in order a feast ; and that was the feast, oh eon and brother !

Tin« itorr, told bj л blind man. U a good initanre of the w»y in which a popular tale adapU itself to the mind of ет»nrbody. The blinding of the ginnt and hii rntrnqnent addrea to bit pet goat—" There thou art, toon abaggy, hairy, white goat : thou eee'rt me, bat I Me Ihce not "—come« from the heart of the narrator. It U the ornament which his mind hangt on the frame of the lory.

" Jamet Wilton learnt it from John MarLachlan, an old mnn at Kiltleren, upwards of forty yean ago. The old man would be about eighty yean of age at the time."

Сил BnoiDHs ii probably a corruption of some proper nmmp

duo ii a paw, a palm. Buionc, yellow.

I 16 WUST HIGHLAND TALKS.

CONALL CRA-BHUIDHE.

BHA Conall сга-bhuidhe па thuathanach foghainnteuch ann an Eirinn. IHia ceathrar mhac aige. Bha anna an am sin rtgh air a h-uile cbigeamh do dh' Eirinn. Tbuit e mach do chlann an righ a bha fugus do Chonull gun deach iad iViu :i»m dann Chonalll tliar a' chdile. Fhuair clann Chonaill Ihmh an uachdar, 's roharbh iad mac mor an righ. Chuir an righ fios air Conall '» thuirt e ris. " A Chonaill ilr thug do d' nihicsa dol a leum air mo mhicsa gua an do mharbhadh mo mhuc mûr le d' chloinusa ? Ach tha mi faicinn ged aleanuinn le dioghaltas tliu nach mor is f heairde mi e, agus cuiridh mi nis ma d' choinneamh ni, ugus ma ni thu e cba lean mi le dioghaltas tliu. Ma gheobh tbu If in agus do mhic dbmhsa each donn rtgh Lochlann gheobh thu anamanna do mliac." " Carson," arsa Conall, " nach ilcunainnsii toil an righ ged nach biodh anamanna mo mhac air a sgath ¡dir. 'S cruaidh an gnothach a thu thu 'g iarraidh orm, ach caillidh mi mo bheatha Irin agus bcatha mo mhac air neo ni mi toil an righ. An doïgh nam briathran ao dh' f hag Conall an righ 's chaidh e dhachiiidh. Nur a th'ainig e dachaidh bha e fo mhöran trioblaid agus duibhthiamhas. Nur a chaidh e laidbe dh' innis e d'à bhean an ni chuir an righ ma choinneamh. Ghabh a' bhean moran duilicliinn gum b* digin da dealachadh rithe IViu, '» gun fhios aie« 'm faiceailh i tuillidh e." "A Chonaill," ara' iae, " carson nach do leig thu leisan righ a thoil fuin a dhuanailh ri d' mhic, aeach a bhi folbh a nis 'a gun f hios'am am faic ml tuillidh thu."

Nur a dh' eiridh iad an la* r na mhaireach chuir e e (Vin 's a choithir mic an brdugh, 's ghabh lad an turas ma thuaiream Lochlann, 's cha d' rinneadh stad leo ach a rcubadh cuain gus an d' ramig lad e. Nur a rainiç lad Ix>clilann cha roblí floa аса do 'dhèanailh iad. Arsa 'n scann duine га mhic, " Stadadh aibhse agus iarraidh sinn a mach tigh muilleir an righ." Nur a chaidh iad a stich do thigh muilleir an righ chuir an duine iad a dh' f hantuinn anna an oidhcbe. Dh' innia Conall do 'n mhuilleir gun deach a chlann (Vin 'a clann an righ tluir a cheile 's gun do mharbh a chlannaan mac an righ 'a nach robh ni sum bith a thoileachadh an righ ach e 'dh' fhaotainu each donn righ Lochlann. "Ma ni tluisa run orm 's gun cuir thu air dbigh mi gum faigh mi e, gu diongalta paighidh mi air a ahon thu." Огаа Conall, " 'S amaideuch an ni a thainig thu 'dh' iarraidh," ara' am muillear, " chibnn tha 'n righ air leagail iuntinn air eho mbr 'a nach fhaigh thu air dbigb sam bith e

»т

вввгаа\ fût •Ла rzяЛ»a IL -m v-п ame* a вваз »:<dl ma» -UT •И.* • S • ÜB am «п»мпп-»-1.мш. n {.ааввТ » t » lia üa '-ç «*r

Î_LJS ДЕЛА fu I -iTt- Гта ПКГЧаИ! ЗИ 3'ÎH Ч Ш fill «dB 1k »;:J|

i «n яшг um и n-ir »ir Л-HBXL.* * 'Л» шла 1 агл * -tinrqf а

• 7?i UT »с штт вт nt^ шаг шС- Т1 g рАввв ав ñca A 4h4 •а.' ш'-л a jrtmmi- i ^1^цг ml «• як • -с «.с. * ¿T*n:-s í*¿ IT

WBb*Udi'**-n rrt flkrz aüL 'rL-КЭ ЕЖ «Н.~Г<1>Г2Ч»ГЛ IV rurWÙ* V ¿t'

f B" '.«l ait Tftr » (\ errri m£ t ¿an '-»-"» шг la «ert i da r-*ta ш:4 кг. lia с 6:<--:¿ fvcaaa «t »' ¿j-na *•".-! — иг n. 1 'fcâj»>ri. tr ut » ша шг гш f --тег; ЕП «и íier«.' Rzu i&i mt ir.U Ы n •• ллл вг ж «aô. bu т -.-«* рж е^*>1> t гж •tanrutl f l i.".•»I femib жа •• nr» ¿i« : eàrou с "ж «жгжгко. • 5 t-¿~3 ржг k-* •»! жа t-сжгг »-»ж жгикм.* «гУ * гж г" «»в, • fcrjc ОчИж ш •гг-.«ж»>гл ж B&rii, '• шхт ж irSrinca Сопж11 'f d».-i ж tii^TŒ tr^.iâ L»d '• »» tei'.l fbiJA.fk. Ph' жтЬшгс ж« «er^*ir.4íi /*»•!» вах í*rfe, 't еЬж d' f bntir iad mi жаш bith cvkrr. Tt: l iad 'i dh' !»-!:! i*d »? dn "в ncH, 't tbuin жв ri^b na. шжг жа nbb itv^b ССАГТ 1лЛ ж dr>M d* жя ájt« tiprh Nor ж ЬЬж ùin« Ж1К •• pileu ж Wiiîh жп- M'jh thieConiU *• ж mhic жв Ж1Ь Umh «ir жв teca. Мж 1м шЬ'т жв КжгтгжкЬ ж гшв e roimhr, b« »hfacbd moth« жл ftarmnkh • rinn с ni». Choir жа rich бае ur ж ctiüloen ж rt« •§ tbairt • fa cinntnch (пт robh ru'U-pm a cor dn^h Ж'Г жа (ach dhnoa. • FolbbuMi жцм жтЬжагаЫ) pi nuth timchiMl Ж1Г," ora' «•жа. СЪжИЬ пж wirbb«i«icfa ж auch, *ж chaidh UJ*aa do пж Inill f hiliVh. Rbnicfa пж MÎrbbeisich gu nulh, '§ сЬж d° f hiuir i»d ni. Thill ¡ad '• dh' inn u U'l к. * ТЪж un iongaatach kam«»," жп' an ri|rh. •Th«irigeadh lib«« °Uidbe rithtsd, '* гаж тЫхЬжсЬж* mm' a rithiad e Uie'id mi féin • тжсЬ." Nur ж mboU>»ich Conall '• a mhic gvn robh na KÍIIoui air folbh thug iad Umh a rithiad air an each, '• rng fear ас' air, 'l та ba тЫн- an stararaich a rinn an l-rach an da ahiubhal roimhid, rinn e barrachd air ал t-tiobhal »o. " Bhnam an," ют' aa rijch ; " 'i «iigin po 'bbeil niüwigin a' cnr dragh alr an «ach dhonn agamaa.** Dh' f huaim • *n dag gn deinreaco, '• nur a thainlg a thcachdain da 'ionnanidh thairt e ri«, gillean ao »làbuill a chur alr (hloaaad, цап robh rudiigin reàrr air an each. Thklnig пж gillran, 'a dh' f holbh an rtgh loo. Nur a mhnthakh Conall '• a mhlc an loir a'tighinn chaidh iad do na toil! fhalalch. Hha 'n righ *na dhulne furachail, 'в chunnak a far an robh na bha loirt alr na h-«ioh a bhl

I 18 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

a' dèanadh sUraraich. " Bitliibh tapaidh," urs' an t\fh, " Tha daoine a stigh 'a an it'ubull, 'i faighcamuid ¡ml uir alluigin." Lean an righ falleachd nan daoine, 's f hu.iir e iad. Ulia li-uile duine eblach air Conall; chionn blia e 'na tbuatbanach meusail aig righ Eireann. 'S nur a thug an righ nlos as na I »ill iad thulrt e " U ! Chonaill a* bheil thu 'n ao !" " Tba righ mi 'u so gun cheist, 's thug an eigin orm tighinn ann tha mi fo d' mhatbas agus fo d' onair aguí fo d' ghros." l)h' inniíi e mar a tliuclmir da, 'i gun robh aige 'n t-each donn r'n fhaotainn du righ Eireann no 'mliac a bhi air а cbur g\i biis. " Him fhios'ain nach fhaighinii e lo iurraidli, 's bba mi Muí g' a ghoid." " Seadh a Chonaill tha e glc" mhalh ach thig a stigh," ars an righ. Dh* iarr e air a luchd coimhead faire chur air mic Chonaill, 's biadh a Ihoirt dbaibh ; 's chuireadh faire dlihbailt' an oidhche sin air mie Chonaill. "N¡9 a Chonaill,"ars' an righ, "An robh thu 'n hite riabli na bu cbruaidhe na 'bhith 'faicinn do chuid mac 'pan crochsdh am maireacli ; ach chuir thusa gum* mh.it h.n ague gum' ghras e, 's gur e 'n ¿¡gin a thug ort e, '» cha 'n f haod mi thusa a chroclmdli. Innis domh < in 'sam bith 'san robh thu cho cruaidh ris a' so, 's ma dli' ¡nnseai thu sin gheobh tbu anam do inhic is oige leaL" " Innsidh mi cas cho cruaidh amis' an robh mi," orea Conall.

" Bha mi ann am ghill' 6g, 's bha mbran fearainn aig in' atbair, 's bha pliircean bbiorach aige, 's bhu te dhiu an dtigb breitb. Thuirt mo, mbathair rium a toirt dhachaidh. Dh' f holbh mi agus thug mi |eam balachan, agus f huair sinn a' bhb, 'в thug sinn leinn i. Shil frus shneachda, chaidh sinn a stigh do bliothag Uiridh, 's thug sinn я bhu 's an laoyb a sti^h lelnn, '» bha sinn a' leigeil dhinn na froise ; de' thainig a stigh ach aona chat deug '» rat mnr ruagh cam na cheannabhard orra. Nur a thbinig iud a btigh, gu dearbh, cha robh tlachd sain bith again fein d1 an cuidcachü. " äuas sibh," ursa 'n ceunnabhard, "carson a bbiotlli sibli 'nur tinnb, аци$ seinnibh cronan do Chonull Crh-bhuidlie." llhu ionguntos orín güín' b' aithne do na cait fi'in m'ainm. Nur a »heinn iad an crbnan. urs' an ceannabhard. " Nis a Chonaill paigli duals a' chrbnain a sheinn na caitduit." "Mata, urea mi fein "cha'n 'eil duais agomsa dhuibh mar an d' tlit'id sibh sios agus an luogh sin a ghabhail." Cha bu luaithe tbuirt mi 'm facal na ghabh an da chat deug a e'ios an dail an laoigh, 'a gu dearbh cha do sheas e fadu dhaibh. " Sues sibh, carson a bhiodh sibh 'nar tosd seinnibh crbnan do Chonall Crh-bhuidhe," are an ceannard. Gu diongalta cba robh tlachd 'sum bith again fein d'a'n crbnan, ach a nios a ghabh an t-aon chat deug, 's mar an do sin-inn iad dbmhsa crbnan an sin agus an sin.

" Paigh a nis 'nan duais iad," ars on cat mor ruadh. Tha ml fcln

OOBAU. OU BHC1DBB. 119

tghb dhibb fcñ '• de V «Jma», an» p>ñe, cha '• 'eu daù щввма dhmbh atar n ¿abb nth na mart я» «bios. Tlrag iad taaa a mhurt, '• if» веа-Чл cba do tbraa i (ada dhaUJi. « C*re« * bbira ыЬЪ 'вот toad tkeiri^ti ru* ag« «irníl-h crràan do СЬопаЛ Cra- bhmJdbr,* an aa eeanoard. Ga annteaeb a rig« rba robe amhail agaai dhaibb fea во d' aa етооаж, c^iooa bita au tairin« в*с*> Ь« еЬошравака aibatb iad. Nor а «Ьпвв iad dewhaa *в crteaa tbmr lad a aVia om far вв robh aa eeaanard. " Pixdh a an aa duais* on' an eeanaibbird, "'S fu cmntnck a rich cba robh doaii ag-iana dhaibb, '• Ibairt aú río,' bha 'в 'cil daait agaana dhaibb m»r aa f tboir «ibh an balacfa m lebh, '» team a dbeaaadfa db«th. Nar a ehual am baUcfa *o thug t 'mach air, '• tbog aa eait a* a dhnph ; '• ga cianltach a rtgh bha »tboopmn eatorra. Nar a chaidh iad a mach ghabh mix auch air BJnneag »grrxh a bha air taobo eiiil «в ugh«. Thug mi a« cho cnuklh '• a dh' fhandainn a «iph do*B ehoille. Bha mi gfe loath, Uidir 'MB am rin. Agin nor a mbMhaich mi loirm nan eat a' ra' dhciph »trcap mi ann an craoibh cho anl '• a chnnnaie ml 'aan ait« ago» a bha diimhail ann« a bharr, *• dh' fhalaich mi mi ffm che math '• a dh' f haodainn. Tlibiílch na rail air mlarraidh fea^h na coi I le, '• cha robh iad 'gam' fhaouinn, aga< nor a bha iad tglta thnirt gach frar ra chrtl« gun tillradh iail, ach thuirt am cat cam, ma^h a bha 'na cheannabhjnl orra." Cha 'n f hacaubha' • le 'or da »bail, '«gnn »puns' ach an aon liiil. Siod an •laightir« shnai am Ьагт na rraoibh«! Nur a ihnirt e »in chaidh fear dhio toa« '«a chraoibh, '• nnr a bha e tiuh'n far an robh mi tharminn mi arm a bh' acam, apu» mharbh mi e. * Ilhnam м>," an' am fear cam, "eha 'n' fhaod mi»« 'bhl call mo chujdcachd mar «a Crainnichibh ma bhnn na craoibbe, ago» cUtdhachaibh timchloU orra, ago» leagaibh an noa« an rogaira go tulimh." Chruionich iad an ao timchioll orra, agua chladhaich iad ma 'ban, agtu a chiad Г hreamh a ghearr iad thug i oileann nrra go tniteam, 's Uiug mi fein glaodh asam '• cha b-iochnadh e. Bha ann an iomall na coill» aagairt ago« deich daoin' aig a ruamhar, '• thuirt e, " Tha 'n »iod glaodh taraichte cha n 'fhaod mise gun a fhrcagiirt," Thuirt fair a bo ghllc« de na daoin*. " Leif^amaid dk RU» an cluinn »In a rithiad e." Tho'uich na cait'i tbbioich iad pa fiadhaich, 'в bhrixl lad an ath fbrromh, '• thug mi (fm an ath glilaodh aaam, '« gu dearbh cha robh e fann. "Go dnnteach," on' an ugairt, " '• daine 'na ¿igin a th'ann gluaisemaid." Bha iad a' cuir an ordugh gu gluaud, '• dh' eiridh na cait air a chraoibh go« an do bhritd iad an treas fraumhich, '• thnlt a chraobh air a Ь-uiltann. Thog mi 'n treai glaodh aaam. UháBrich na daoin« fofhalnteacb, 'i nur a chunnaic lad an illul a

IZO WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

lili' aig na cait air a cliraoiblí thoisich lad umt Icis na spodan, 's thoisich ¡ad foi» 's na cait air a chcile, gus an do mharbbadh gu ItHr, lud na daoiu' agus na mit ; agus gu cinntcuch a righ olía do charaich mise gas am faca mi 'n t-aun ma dheireadh a' tuiteam diu. Tliainig mi dachaidh, ациз sin agud an cas un cruaidhe 'n robti raise riabh, *a air leant güín bu chruaidhe 'bhith gam' leùbadh aig na cait na bhith 'gam' clirochadli aig righ Loulilann a maireach.

" Öd a Clionaill,"ari an rluh, " '» briutliarach ihn, shaor thu anam do ш L ¡с lo d' naighcuclid, ague та dli' шиаоиэ thu dhiuiili che ia cruaidbo na du tUri mic a blii 'цап crocliadb a inaireach glicoblí tliu do dliarna mac is bi^e leat 's bidb an sin da mliac agud." " Main," orsa Conall, •ir cliiimhnant gun dean thu sin, blia mi 'n cas a bu chruaidhe na 'bhi' agadsa 'nochd am priusan. " Cluinucnm e," urs' an righ. Bha mi 'n siod," orsa Conall, " am ghill' bg 's chaidh mi mach a shealgair- eachd, 's bim crioeh m' atbar Uobh ua fuirge, 's bha i garbh le creagan, uamhachan, agua geolliachan. Nur a bha mi folbh aig braigh a' chladuich chunnuic mi mar gum biodh loit a' tighinn • nun eadar da chreax, '• thug mi luiiih air ambare de bu chiall do'n toit a bhi tighinn a irios an siod. Nur a bha mi 'g ambare de rinn ml ach tuiteam sïos, 's bha 'u t-aite cho Ihn do leatachadli 's nach do blirisdeudh cnhimh па cruicionn. Cha robh fios 'am dé mur а gheobhaiun a mach as an so. Cha robh mi 'g anillare romham ach bha mi 'g ambare аз mo chionn an ratlmd a thàinig mi, 's cha d' thig an lath' a gheobhainii suas an sin. Bha e uamhasach learn a bhi 'u sin gus am baiucbaiim. (Jhuala mi tuairneileis mhiir a' tighinn, 's de bha 'n sin ach l'anibair mbr, 's da dhusan gobhar lois, agus boc air an ceann, 's nur a chcangail am famhair na gobhair thaiuig e nie.* 's thuirt e rium." " liaobli u Chonaill 's f hada mo chore a' meirgeadh ann a' m' phbca a feitheamk air t-f hcbil mhooth." " Oh," ягьа mise, "Cha inhor is f heaird i lui mUo ged a reubas i lui mi as a' chc'ilc, cha dean mi ach аоп truth dhiiit ; ach i li.i mi faicinn gu 'bheil thu air aon aiiil, 's Idigh math mise '» bheir mi sealladh na suil eile dhuit. I Hi f holbh am famhair 's tharrainn e 'm brothadair mor uir làrach a ghealbhuin, 's bha mi fein aig ionnsach- adb dha ddmur а theöigheadh e 'n t-uisge, chum gun d' thugainn a «ealladh do 'n t-shil eile. Fhuair mi fraoch, 's rinn mi rubair dhetli 'a chuir mi 'na shcasamh anns a' bhrothadair e. Thbisich mi air an t-suil a bha gu math, a' cur mar f hiuclmibh air pun d' thugaiun a »ualladh do 'n te eile gus аи d' f hag mi cho dona r'u chbll '¡ml ; ague gu cinnteach b' fliosa 'n te bha gu math a mhilleadh, na 'sealladh a thoirt do 'n te eile. Nur a chunoaic e nach bu leur dha leus, 's а thuirt rai iViii ris gum faighiun a mach gun taing dha, thug e 'n

OOJCAIA OLA ВНПГЕХ. Ill

••Hilft aatnaU Ctarabh

! • oto' а* теЪЬ ni. Nv а i • mhaidirjB, Ч • dh' ai:)inic* • l th« ЧГ chadal. dui-ч: acw trig a i 'm We. СЫа»м1а«а*в.--аш

• khae." *•€•» •' А* «na

• Ч p*« f Uwe vi M «ir am mi mac* ta 4i m p*hw,4Ы» • f* eñodackad»,

l «ritte. -ТЪа tb»- ai û a i^octe Ьваа, riebagach, cai Авва mite, аса сва *в f haic mV tbaaa. Boa mi '(Ежи emir • mack • Пев t¿ 's t* 's a feannadh * bonk- Ч ma'n robh 'n It mi dhairadh dhi« *Bi«rk baa fcannadh bnilf: acarn »ir. Dh* f bolba mi '• s» 's cbuir вн me сЪамв inn en kit«'rheum, deiridh '• •M lamba* ш Ы*я 'doMB te»th. •§•• вм dwu» in kit«'chinn, 'i na h »dhiireaui air nmltaek mo Hi inn, «lr alt '§ gon moilndh a bhritd gmr • *m hoc a bh' »nn. Cbaidh mi 'mack. Kur a bha mi 'dol a maca chnir am bmbair a larah orm, 's thuirt a." " Tha th u«' an ño a bank bboidhich, cfai tbnta mi« ach cha 'n f haie mit' thus«." Nor a f huair mi fftn a mach, '• a cfammaic mi *n saoghal ma 'n cuairt orm, gn cinnteach a righ boa boch orm. Nor a bha mi mach, 's a chrath mi dhiom an cr«icionn, ihuirt mi ris a bhtisd. Tba mi mach a nit gmn UingdmL* Aba," nn'Man, "and'rinn thus» orm; O*nabhalhu cbo fochainteach '« щш d* f huair tha mach, bheir ml dhuit fkinn' a ÜT agam an to, '» glr"idh are fkinne '» ni с frum dhnit." Cha ghtbh mi 'm fünnf u«it, ana mite, ach til.: e, > bbrir mi lr«m ». Thilg • 'm fkinn'air abhlkr.chaidh mifrin '• thogmi 'm fainnr. > chuir mi air mo mhror e. Nur a thuirt • rinm an tin a' bh«il am fatnnt freafialrt duit, thuirt mi rit, tha. Un' atan, Ca' 'bhtil Ihn Chalón« ; '• thuirt am fkinn«. " ТЪа mi 'n so.* Dh' fholbh a' bhcitd '» thug • ionn- tuidh air far an robh 'm fainn« bruirthinn, agut chnnnalc mi 4l so gun robh ml 'n cat na bu chruaidh« na bha ml rlabh. Thflrruinn ml blodtR; phearr midlunm a' nihrur; 'l tbilp mi utm i rho fhada 'l a b' urrainn mi mach tlr an loch, 't bha dùimhnrarhd mhitr 'я ао kit«, (i Manul h run Ckit' «' bhril'thu fhainn«; 'l thnirt am falnn«, " Tha mi 'n so," ged a bha • 'n gninnd a chuain. 'I Imp « Irum ts Arigh an f hkinne, 's a mach а Rli.ilih • «nn« tn f h«irc« 't bha ml cho toilichte an so nur a chunnalc ml « 'ga bhkthadh, 's ged a IriK^JKlh thtua mo bhratha fein agns beatha mo mhtc Irani gun nrir drigh a cbuir orm. Nur a bhkthadh am famhalr chaidh mi ttigh 's thug ml l«am nabli'aige 'dli'or's dodh'airgiod.'t chaidh ml dhachaldh, 't gn

tZZ WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

einnteach bha loilinntinn mhhr air mo mhuinntir nur a ruinig mi '» mar chomliarra dhuit fhaic thu'mheur tllitom.

"Seadh a Chonaill 's briathrach seölt' thu, ara an righ, tha mi faicinn ilo mheur dliiot. Shaorthudndha mhacanis ach innis domh casiscruaidhean robhthu ri:ibh na bhi'g anillare air do dha inhac'gan crochadh a inliireach 's gheubh Chu anam do dharna mic ¡9 eine leat."

" I)li' f holbti an siod in' athair," arsa Conul, " agua f huair e dhomh bean,'e bha mi air mo phbsadli. Dli'f holbh mi shealg. Bha mi folbh taobh na fairge 's cbunnaic mi eilean thall am nieadhon an loch, aguí thainig mi far an robb bata an hin, 's ropa roiin|>e 's ropa na deigh, 's moran do nithean luauhmhur an taobh a sii^h dhi. Dh' amliairc mi f¿in air a bhata fcuch demur a ghcobliainn phirt diu. Chuir ml stigh an dama cas 's bha 'chas eile air a ghruiind, 'а nur а tliog mi mo cheann de ach a bha 'm lata nunn am meadhon an loch, 'л cha do stad i gus an d' rainig i 'n t-eilean. Nur a cliaidh mi mach as a bhhta thill am buta far an robh i roiinhid. Cha robh liosmn en «o de' dhcanainn. Bha 'n t-aite gun bliiadh, gun aodach, gun chollas tighe air. Thog mi mach a\r mullach cnoic. Tliuinigmigu glcann. Chunnaic mi ann an grunnd glomhais bean ogus leanabh nice, 'я an leanabh riiisgt' air a gliiinean, agus span aicc 'па liiimli. Dlieireadh i lamb air an sgian a chuir air muincal an IMnibli, 's thbUeachudh an leanabh air gkireachdaich na h-aodann, 'я thbiseachadh ise air caoineadh, 's thilgeadh i 'n sgian air a h-ais. Smaointich mi fein pun robb (mi fagos do m' naimhdeau 's fad o m' chainlean, 'a gblaoiclh rni ris abhoireannach. " De' tha thu Meanadh an so ?" 'S thuirt i riiim. " De thug tlius' an so?" Dh' innis mi fein di facal air an f bacal mar a thai nig mi. " Mata," ora' ise, " 'a ann mar siu a thàinig mise cuid- eachd." Shebl i mi gus an aite 'n d' thiginn a stigh far an robh i. < 'h,uilli mi »tigh, 's thuirt mi rithe, De bu choireacli thu bhi' cur na -цЬш air muineal л plihisde. "Tha gu 'fcum mi e' bhi bruich aireen an f hamhair a tha 'n so, air no cha bhi tuillidh do in' uhaoghal roinh- .1111." Chaldh mi BU&S ceunianna staighreacu, 's chunnaic mi seomar I.ni «In chuirp ruisgte. Thug mi plalbean as a chorp a bu gbile, agus cheangail mi sreang ri cas a phalade 'a sreang ris a phlaibean, 's chuir mi 'm plaibean 'na bheul, 's nur a bhiodh e' dol 'na mhuineal bheireadh e eWadh air a chois, 'e bheireadh e as a mliuincal, ach leis an fhad a hha's an t-smathainn cha b-iirrainn e tlioirt aa a bhvul. Thilg mi 'm paisd'ann um baraillo clöimlio,'s dli' iarr ml urra 'n carp a bhruich do 'n f hamhair an alto' phaisde. " Demur is urrainn mi sin а a dheanadh, " art' Ise, 's gu bheil cunndos aig air na cuirp. Dehn thuaa mar a tha mise 'g iarraldh ort, 'a iiiisgidh mise mi MM, 'a theid mi' meosg nan corp, 's bidh an cunndas aig an sin, ursa mise. Rinu

CONALL CBA 111 l IM HI l R. l 2 J

l mär a dh' iarr ml urra. Chuir «In an corp aims a bhrothadair mhbr, ach chu h-urrainn duinn am brod a cliur air. Nur a bha eaon a tigh'n dachaiilh rbisg mine mi fein 's chaidh mi measg nan corp. Thainig емп dachaidh, 's chuir ise 'n corp air mias mlmr, '9 nur a dh' ith e e bha e a' gearan gnn robh e tuillidli ¡s righinn leis do phàisde." " Rinn nii-e mär a illi' inrr thu," an' ise, * llli.i cunndai agad fein air na cuirp, 's theirig RUM a nis ngiu cuntid lud." Chunnd o lad 'l bhaiadaige. "Tha mi Talcmn fear corp gcal an siod," un'«san "'s iln'l.l mi 'laldhe trei«, 's bidh e agam nur a dhufogeas ml. Nur a dh' ¿iridh e chaidh e suas 's rug e orm, 's cha robh m! na leithid do chhs riamh, 's nur a bha e 'gam shlaodhadb sioe an an nUighir 'i mo cheann as mo dhc"i¡;h. Tbilg e anns a° choire mi. Thog e 'm brod, 'a chair e 'm brnd anns a choire. Bha mi 'n so cinnteacb gnm bithinn Kühlte ma 'm faighinn as an siod. Mar bhuaidh fluir tain díimhsa chaldll a bhclnd taobh a choire. Him ml 'n sin 'gam sgaladh le mhs a' choire. Nur a mhothaich ¡«e gun robh e 'na chadal chuir i 'beul gu rr'idh ris an toll a bha 'sä' bhrod, 's thuirt I riom an robh mi beb. Thuirt mi gun robh. Chuir mi snas mo cheann, 's bha стггар na beisde cha mor 's gun deach mo cheann roimhe gu soirbh. Bha h-uile ni tigh 'n learn gu soirbh gns an do thbiaich mi air toirt a nios mo chruachan. Dh' f hag mi craicionn nan cruachan ma bheul nn tnill, '« tlminii; mi as. Ñor a f hnair mi 'mach as a choire cha robh f hios 'am de' dhèanainn, 's thuirt ise Hum nach robh arm sam b'itli a mharbhadh e ach arm fi'in. Thbisich mi air urruinn na «!eo|;h. '« a' h-uile tarrulnn a bheireadh e air anail shaollinn gum bithinn slos 'ua mhuincal, 's nur a chuireadh e 'mach anail bha ml cho fad'a ritblsd air m' ais. H-uile h-olc g' an d' fhuaireadh mi f huair mi n t-sleagli f huasgladh ualdh. Bha mi 'n sin mar кит bithinn fo ultach conlaich ann an gsoith mhbr, 's nach h-urrainn mi 'n t-sleagh iomachar, 's b-oilltfil a bhl 'g ambare air a bhelad, 's gun ach ann siiil an ciar aodainn, 's cha b-aobhach do m' lelthldu do) 'na dhiiil. Tharruinn mi 'n t-sleagh mar a b'f heart a b'urrainn mi, 's chuir mi 'na shuil 1. Nur a mhothaich e so thug • togail air a cheann, 's bhuail o ceann elle na iileagh ri driom na h- tininha, 's chaidh I roimhe pu ciil a chinn, 's thiiit e foar, marbh far an robh e, 's gu clnntrach dhuitse a righ bha boch ormsa, Chaidh mi fein 's am boireannach a mach air fcarann glan, 's chuir sin «cachad an oldhche an sin. Dh' f holbh mi agus f huair mi m bala leis an d' thainiç mi, agns cha robh iodramanachd sam bith orra, 's thug mi 'bhean agus am paiade nunn air talamh tioram, agua thill ml dhachaidh.

Bha mathair an righ a' cur air gealbhan aan am, s a 'g e~udeacbd

114 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

ri Conall aig inneeudh an nalgheachd ma 'n phiiiade. " An tub','' an' i«e, bha'ain. " Mata, ura eaan," 's mi. " Och I ocli ! " ore' be, « '• mise 'liha 'n >¡n, agua 'a e 'n г'|дЬ am paiade d'an do ahabhail thu 'blieatba, agua 'a aim ort a dh' d'f haodar buidheachaa a bheatha thobhairt." Ghabh lad an ao toilinntinn mhbr. Ura' an r'igh, "A Cbonaill thainig thu ro chaaan mor, agua '» leat a nil an t-each dann, agua a ihachd do na nitheannan is luachmlioire 'th' ami u'ni' conmhaa." Cuaidh iad a laidbe 'n oitlhche, sin 'a ma bu mhoch a dh' éiridh Conall bu mhoiche na ain a bha bhanrigh air a cola a Mheanadb deas. Fhuair e an t-oach donn, 'a a ahachd do dh' or, 'a do dh' airgiod, 'a do chlachn luachmbor, 'a dh' fholbh an ain Conall 'a a cbeathror mac, 'a thill iad dachaidh do rioghachd aighearach Kirinn. Dh' f hag e 'u t-ur 'a an t-airgiod aig an tigh, 'a chaidh • leia an each thun an righ. Chord a fiin 'a an righ, 'a bha iad 'nan camlean matha tuillidh. Thill e dhachaidh thun a mhnatha a chuir iad an brdugh culrm, 'a bi chuirm i a inliic '» a bhrktha'ir.

THE TALE OF CONAL CROVL

From Neill Gillies, fisherman, near Inrerary.

f I "'HERE was a king over England once, and ho had •*- three eons, and they went to France to get learning, and when they came back home they said to their father that they would go to see what order was in the kingdom since they went away ; and that was the first place to which they went, to the house of a man of the king's tenants, by name Conal Crobhi.

Conal Crovi liad every thing that was better than another waiting for them; moat of each meat, and draughts of each drink. When they were satisfied, and the time came for them to lie down, the king's big eon said—

" This is the rule that we have since wo came homo —The goodwife must wait on me, and the maid must wait on my middle brother, and the guidman'e daughter on my young brother." But this did not please Conal Crovi at all, and ho said—" I won't say much about the maid and the daughter, but I am not willing to part from my wife, but I will go out and ask themselves alxmt this matter ;" and out ho went, and ho locked the door behind him, and ho told his gillie that the three beat horses that were in tho stable were to bo ready without delay ; and ho and hie wife went on one, his gillio and his daughter ou

120 WEST HIGHLAND TALEH.

another, and his son and the maid on the third horse, and they went where the king was to tell the insult liis set of sons had given them.

The king's watchful gillie was looking out whom he should see coming. He called out that he was seeing three doubla riders coming. Said the king, ha ! hah! This is Conal Crovi coming, and ho has my three sous under cess,* but if they ore, I will not be. When Conal Crovi came the king would not give him a hearing. Then Conal Crovi said, when he got no answer, " I will make thy kingdom worse than it is," and he went away, and ho began robbing and lifting spoil.

The king said that he would give any reward to any man that would make out the place where Conal Crovi was taking his dwelling.

The king's swift rider said, that if lie could get a day and a year ho would lind out where ho was. He took thus a day and a year seeking for liini, but if ho took it he saw no sight of Conal Crovi. On his way home he sat on a pretty yellow brow, and he saw a thin smoke in the midst of the tribute wood.

Conal Crovi had a watching gillie looking whom he should see coming. He went in and he said that he saw the likeness of the swift rider coming. " Ha, ha ! " said Conal Crovi, " the poor man is sent away to exile as I went myself."

Conal Crovi had his hands spread waiting for him, and he got his choice of meat and drink, and warm water for his feet, and a soft bed for his limbs. He was but a short time lying when Conal Crovi cried, " Art thou asleep, swift rider?" "I am not," said he. At the end of a wliile again he cried, " Art thou asleep)" He said he was not. He cried again the third time, but there was no answer. Then Conal Crovi * Cis, сове, tax, aubjection.

TUE TALE OF CON AI- OROVI. t 2J

cried, " On your solee I all within, this is no crouching time. The following will be on us presently." The watch man of Cuñal Crovi was shouting that he was seeing the king's three sons coming, and a great company along with thorn. Ые had of arms but one black rusty sword. Conal Crovi began at them, and he did not leave a man alive there but the three king's sons, and he tied them and took them in, and he laid on them the binding of the three smalls, straitly and painfully, and he threw them into the peat corner, and he said to hie wife to make meat speedily, that he was going to do a work whose like he never did before. " "What is that, my man t" said ehe. " Going to take the heads off the king's three sons." He brought up the big one and set Ые head on the block, and ho raised the axe. " Don't, don't," said he, " and I will take thy part in right or unright for ever." Then he took the middle one, he set hie head on the block and he raised the axe. " Don't, don't," eoid ho, "and I will take with thee in right or unright for ever." Then ho brought up the young one, and ho did the very same to him. " Don't, don't," said he, " and I will take with thce in right or unright for ever. Then he went, himself and the king's three sons, where the king was.

Tim watching gillies of the king were looking out when they should see the company coming with the head of Conal Crovi. Then one called out that he was seeing the likeness of the king's three sons coming, and Conal Crovi before them.

" Ha, hah !" eaid the king, " Conal Crovi is coming, and he has my three sons under cess, but if they are 1 won't be." Ho would give no answer to Conal Crovi, but that he should bo hanged on a gallows in the early morning of the morrow's day.

Now, the gallows was set up and Conal Crovi was

128 WEST II ICH LAN О TALKS.

a)x)ut to bo hanged, but tho king's big son cried, " I will go in bis placo." Tho king's middle son cried, " 1 will go in his place ;" and tho king's young son cried, " I will go in his place." Then tho king took contempt for his set of sons. Then said Conal Crovi, " We will make a big ship, and we will go steal the three black whitcfuced stallions that the king of Eirinn has, and we will make tho kingdom of Sosunn as rich as it ever was. When the ship was ready, her prow wont to sea and her stern to shore, and they hoisted the chequered flapping sails against the tall tough masts ; there was no mast unbent, nor sail untorn, and the brown buckies of the strand were "glagid"ing on her floor. They reached the " Paileas" of the King of Eirinn. They went into the stable, but when Conal Crovi would lay a hand on the black whitefiiced stallions, the stallions would let out a screech. The King of Eirinn cried, " Be out lads ; some one is troubling the stallions." They went out and they tried down and up, but they saw no man. There was an old hogshead in the lowur end of tho .stable, and Conal Crovi and tho king's three sons wore hiding themselves in tho hogshead. When they wont out Conal laid hands on the stallion and tho stallion let out a screech, and so they did thruo times, and at the third turn, one of those who were in the party said, that they did not look in the hogshead. Then they returned and they found the king's three sons and Conal in it. They were taken in to the king, " Ha, ha, thou hoary wretcli," eaid tho king, " many a mischief ih.MI didst before thou thoughtest to come and steal my three black stallions."

Tho binding of the three smalls, straitly and painfully, was put on Conal Crovi, and he was thrown into the peat corner, and tho king's three sons were

THE TALE OF CON AL CU! »VI. I2Ç

taken up a stair. When the men who were above had filled themselves full of meat and drink, it was then that the king thought of sending word down for Canal Crovi to tell a tale. "Г was no run for the king's big son, but a leap down to fetch him. Said the king, " Come up here, thou hoary wretch, and tell us a tale." " I will tell that," said he, " if I get the worth of its telling ; and it is not my own head nor the head of one of the company." " Thou wilt get that," said the king," " Tost ! hush ! over there, and lot us hear the tale of Conal Crovi :"—

" As a young lad I was fishing on a day beside а river, and a great ship came past inn. They eaid to me would I go as ' pilot' to go to Home. I said that I would do it ; and of every place as wo reached it, they would ask was that lióme 1 and I would say that it was not, and I did not know where in the great world lióme was.

" Wo came at last to an island that was there, we wont on shore, and I went to toko a walk about the island, and when I returned bock the ship was gone. There I was, left by myself, and 1 did not know what to do. I was going past a house that was there, and I saw a woman crying. I asked what woe was on her ; she told me that the heiress of this island had died six weeks ago, and that they were waiting for a brother of hers who was away from the town, but that she was to be buried this day.

" They were gathering to the burying, and I was

amongst them when they put her down in the grave ;

they put a bag of gold under her head, and a bag of

silver under her feet I said to myself, that were

better mine ; that it was of no use at all to her. When

the night came I turned bock to the grave.* When I

* The »amo word mean* сите and grove ; tbe gravo i« dug

130 . WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

hod dug up the grave, and when I was coming up with the gold and the silver I caught hold of the stone that was on the mouth of the grave, the stone fell down and I was there along with the dead carlin. By thy hand, oh, King of Eirinn ! and by my hand, though free, if I was not in a harder case along with the carlin than I am here under thy compassion, with а hope to get off."

" Па ! ha ! Thou hoary wretch, thou earnest out of that, but thou wilt not go out of this."

" Give me now the worth of my ursgeul," said Conal.

" What is that ? " said the king.

" It is that the big eon of the King of Sasunn, and the big daughter of the King of Eirinn, should be married to each other, and one of the black white- faced stallions a tocher for them."

" Thou shalt get that," said the king.

Conal Crovi was seized, the binding of the three smalls laid on him straitly and painfully, and he was thrown into the peat corner ; and a wedding of twenty days and twenty nights was made for the young couple. When they were tired then of eating and drinking, the king said that it were better to send for the hoary wretch, and that ho should tell them how ho had got out of the grave.

"Г was no run, but a leap for the king's middle son to go to fetch him ; he was sure he would get a marriage for himself as he hod got for his brother. Ho went down and he brought him up.

Said the king, " Come up and tell to us how thou

because western graves are dug ; but tbe stone falls on the month of the grave, probably because the story came from some country where graves were caves. There is an Italian story in which this incident occurs—Decameron of Boccacio.

TUB TALE OF CONAL CKOVI. I 3 I

göltest out of the gravo." " I will tell that," said Conal Crovi, " if I get the worth of telling it ; and it is not my own head, nor the head of one that is in the company." " Thou ehalt get that," said the king.

" I was thoro till the day. The brother of the heiress came home, and he must see a sight of his sister ; and when they were digging the grave I cried out, oh ! catch me by the hand ; and the man that would not "nit for his bow he would not wait for hie sword, as they called that the worst one was there ; and I was as swift as one of themselves. Then I was there about the island, not knowing what side I should go. Then I came across three young lads, and they were casting lota I asked them what they were doing thus. They said, 'what was my business what they were doing Г 'Hud! hud !' said I myself, 'you will tell me what you are doing.' Well, then, said they, a great giant took away our sister. We are casting lots which of us shall go down into this hole to seek her. I cast lote with them, and there was but that the next lot fell on myself to go down to seek her. They let me down in a creel. There was the very prettiest woman I ever saw, and she was winding golden thread off a silver windle. Oh I said she to myself, how didst thou come here 1 1 came down here to seek thee ; thy three brothers are waiting for thee at the mouth of the hole, and you will send down the creel to-morrow to fotch mo. If I bo living, 'tis well, and if I bo not, there 's no help for it I was but a short time there when I heard thunder and noise coming with the giant I did not know where I should go to hide myself ; but I saw a heap of gold and silver on the other side of the giant's cave. I thought there was no place whatsoever that was better for me to hide in than amidst tho gold. The giant como with a dead

I 3 2 WEST HIGHLAND TALEa

trailing to each of his shoe-ties. He looked down, and ho looked up, and wheu he did not see her before him, he let out a great howl of crying, and he gave the carlins a little singe through the fire and he ate them. Then the giant did not know what would best keep wearying from him, but he thought that he would go and count his lot of gold and silver ; then he was but a short time when he set his hand on my own head. ' Wretch ! ' said the giant, ' many a bad thing didst tliou ever before thou thoughtest to come to take away the pretty woman that I had ; I have no need of thee to-night, but 'tis thou shalt polish my teeth early to-morrow.' The brute was tired, and he slept after eating the carlins ; I saw a great flesh stake beside tin- fire. I put the iron spit in the very middle of the fire till it was red. The giant was in his heavy sleep, and his mouth open, und he was snoring and blowing. I took the red spit out of the fire and I put it down in the giant's mouth ; he took a sudden spring to the further side of the cave, and he struck the end of the spit against the wall, and it went right out through him. I caught the giant's big sword, and with one stroke I struck the head off him. On the morrow's day the creel came down to fetch myself ; but I thought I would fill it with the gold and silver of the giant ; and when it was in the midst of the hole, with the weight of the gold and silver, the tie broke. I fell down amidst stones, and bushes, and brambles ; and by thy hand, oh, King of Eirinn ! and by my hand, though freo, I was in a harder cose than I am to-night, undur thy clemency, with the hope of getting out"

" Ah ! thou hoary wretch, thou earnest out of that, but thou wilt not go out of this," said the king.

" Give me now the worth of my ursgeul"

" What's that Î " said the küig.

TUE TALE OP CON AL ОНО VI. 133

" It is the middle son of the King of Sasunn, and the middle daughter of the Ring of Eirinn to be married to each other, and one of the black whitofaced stallions us tocher."

" That will happen," said the king.

Conal Crovi was caught, and bound with three slender ends, and tossed into the peat corner ; and a wedding of twenty nights and twenty days was made for the young couple, there and then.

When they were tired of eating and drinking, the king said they had bettor bring Conal Crovi up, till he should tell how he got up out of the giant's cave. Т was no run, but a spring for the king's young son to go down to fetch him ; he was sure he would get a " match " for him, as he got for the rest

" Come up here, thou hoary wretch," said the king, " and tell us how thou göltest out of the giant's cave." " I will tell that if I get the worth of telling ; and it is not my own head, nor the head of one in the company." " Thou wilt got that," said the king. " Tost ! silence over there, and lot us listen to the sgoulach of Conal Crovi," said the king.

" Well ! I wasi there below wandering backwards and forwards ; LWIIS. going pasta house that was there, and I saw a woman- there, and she had a child in one hand and a knife in the other hand, and she wag lamenting and crying. I cried myself to her, ' Hold on thy hiiiul, woman, what art thou going to do ? ' ' Oh I ' said she, ' I am here with three giants, and they ordered my pretty babo to be dead, and cooked for them, when they should come home to dinner.' ' I see,' said I, ' three hanged men on a gallows yon- dor, and we will take down one of them ; I will go up in the place of one of them, and thou wilt make him ready in place of thy babe.' And when the

l 3 4 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

giants came homo to dinner, one of them would say, ' Tliia is the flesh of the babe ;' and another would say, ' It is not.' One of them said that he would go to fetch a steak out of one of those who were on the gallows, and that he would see whether it was the flesh of the babe he was eating. I myself was the fírst that met them; and by thy hand, oh, King of Eirinn, and by my hand, were it free, if I was not in a somewhat harder case, when the steak was coming out of me, than I am to-night under thy mercy, with a hope to get out."

" Thou hoary wretch, thou earnest out of that, but thou wilt not come out of this," said the king.

" Give me now the reward of my ursgeul Î "

" Thou wilt get that»" said the king.

"My reward is, the young son of tho King of Sasunn, and the young daughter of the King of Eirinn, to be married, and one of the black stallions as tocher."

There was catching of Conal Crovi, and binding him with the three slender ends, straitly and painfully, and throwing him down into the peat corner ; and there was a wedding made, twenty nights and twenty days, for the young pair. When they were tired eating and drinking, the king said that it wore best to bring up that hoary wretch to tell how ho como otf the gallows. Then they brought myself up.

" Come up hither thou hoary wretch, and tell us how thou gottest off tho gallows." " I will tell that," said I myself, " if I get a good reward." " Thou wilt got that," said the king.

" Well! when tho giants took their dinner, they were tired and they fell asleep. When I saw this, I come down, and the woman gave mo a great flaming sword of light that one of the giants had ; and I was not long

SOEULACim cnONAIL CHROBRIE. I 3 5

throwing the heads off the giants. Then I myself, and the woman were here, not knowing how we should get up out of the giant's cave. We went to the farther end of the cave, and then we followed a narrow road through a rock, till we came to light, and to the giant's ' biorlinn ' of ship,«.* What should I think, but that I would turn back and load the biorlinn with the gold and silver of the giant ; and just so I did. I went with the biorlinn under soil till I reached an island that I did not know. The ship, and the woman, and the babe were taken from me, and I was left there to come homo as best I might I got home once more to Sasunn, though I am here to-night."

Then a woman, who was lying in the chamber, cried out, " Oh, king, catch hold of this man ; I was the woman that was there, and tliou wort the babe." It was hero that value was put on Conal Crovi ; and the king gave him the biorlinn full of the giant's gold and silver, and ho made the kingdom of Sasunn as rich as it ever was before.

Told by Noill Qlllie* t fisherman at Jnverary, about fifty-five yean old, who aayi that he lias known the (tory, and haï repeated It for many yean : be learned it bom his parent«. Written down by

HECTOR URQUIIART.

SGEULACIID CHONAIL CHROBHIE.

Вил rtgh air Saiunn aon unir, agiu bha tribir mhac aige, '( cbaidh lad do 'n Fhralng a dir f haotalnn lonnsachadh, agtu an uair a thill ltd dhachaidh, Ihulrt ¡ad ri 'n athair gun rachadh lad a »healltainn de 'n rUghallt a bba san riöghacbd o 'n a dh' f halbh lad, agua b'e a chend

• П i" u. «log; LINN a pool; Lu INORA NACH, of ships; naval barge; or Lui», handle of an oar, oared barge.

136 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

kite do 'n deich lad do thigh fear do thuathanaich an righ do 'm b'ainm Conal Crublii. Uha gacli ni'b Thearr nn chale aig Canal Crobhi « feithoamli orra, biadh dbeth gach biadh, 's deoch dheth gach deocb. 'Nuair a bha ¡atl subhach 'sa ilmiiii;; am dhoibh dol a luidhe, tliuirt mac mör an rtgli, •' 'Se «о an riagbailt a tli' againne bho thainig «inn dhachaidh, gu 'm bi mU« U buan an tiglie nochd, agus mo bhraihair meadhonach leis an t-searbhanta, 'e mo bhrhthair bg le nighean tir an tlghe." Ach cha do thaliinn во ¡dir ri Conal СгЬЬЫ, '< thubhairt e, "Mu'n nighean'»mu'n t-searbhanta cha'n abair mi moran, ach cha 'n-'eil mi loilichte dealacliadh ri m' bhean, ach ihüid mise mach agua febraichidh mi-dhiubh fhéin mu tbimchioll na cuise so;" agos a mach ghabh e, 's ghlaia e 'n durus na dhtfgh 's dh' iarr e air a ghille na tri eich a b' f heiirr a bha aims an stubull a bhi deas gun duil. Chaidh e fiiin '» a* bheau air fear, '• a ghille 'a a nighean air fear eile, a mhac 'a an searbhanta air an treas each, 'в dh' f halbh iad far an robb an righ, a dh' ¡iinseadh am masladh a thug a chuid mac dhoibh. Bha gille furachail an righ ag ambare a mach со achitheadh e 'ligbinn. Ghlaodh e, " gun rubh e Taicinn triiiir mharcaichedubailte a' tighiua." Thuirt an rtgh, "haï halhl »о Conal Crobhi a' lighiiin, 's mo thriUir mhac an fochb aige, ach ma lint iadsan, cha bhi mise." 'Nuair a Ihuinig Conal Criiblil, cha d' thugadh an righ ¿Meachd dha. Thuirt Conal Crobhi an sin,'nuair nach d'fbuair e frcatairt, "Ni misedu rioghachd na 'a miosa na tha i," 'a dh' f halbh e 's dh' fhag e e, 's thöisich a air robaireachd, 's air togail chreach.

Thuirt an righ, gu 'n d' thugadh e duals air bith do dhulne a gheibh- adh a mach an t-aite anna an robh Conal Crbbhi a' gabhail cbmhnuidh. Thuirt marcach gemenrtach * an rich, "na 'm faigheadb esan latha 's bliadhna, gu 'm faigheadh eaan amach far an robh e." Thug • mar so latha 's bliadhna 'ga 'iarraidh, ach ma thug, cha 'u finie e eeallndli do Chonal Crbbhi. A ir an rathod dhachaidh, eliuúlh e air maolan boidh- each bui'lliu 's chunnaic e caol smuid ann am meadhon naCoille ubh- laidh. Bha gille furachail aig Conal Crbbhi a' sealltainn со 'chitheadh e 'tighinn. Chaidh e stigh, 's thuirt e gun robh e 'faiclnn cosías a mharcaich ghemeartaich a' üghiiin. " Tha, tha, thuirt Conal Crobhi, tha 'n duine bochd air a chuir air falbh air fbgradh mor chaidh mi fein." lilia a lamban Bgaoilte aig Conal Crbbhi a* fcitheamh air, 'a f hualr e ni.lm biadh 's deocha, 'a burn blath d'à chaaan, 'a leaba bhog d'à leasan. Cha robh e ach goirid 'na luidhe 'nuair a ghlaodh Conal Crbbhi, "Am bheil thu 'd Chadul," amharcaich' ghehieartaich. "' %

• GemearUcb, swift (not in Jiclionariei); probably from Скип, a pace.

8GEULACHD CUONAIL CIIRODIIIE. 137

" Chi n'eil," thuirt esan. 'N Ceann lacain a rilhist, ghlaodh e, " 'm bheil thu 'und1 chadal." Thuirt e, nach robb. Uhlaodh e Vithirt an treas unir, ach cha robh freapradh ann. Ghlaodh Conal Crbbhl an so, " Air bhur hon n na tba itigh ; cha 'n am cruban a th' ann, bithidh an ti)ir oirnn an ceartair." Bha 'm fear fain aig Conal Crbbhl a glaodhaich gun robh e 'faicinn triiiir mhac an rlgli a' tighinn le enldeachd mhôr maille rlu." Cha robh do ilh' airm aig' ach claidh- eamh meirgeach dnbh. Thbisich Conat Crbbhl orra, '» cha d' f ha« • duine beb, ach trihir mhac an rtgb, Cheangail e triiiir mhac an rtgb an (in '• thug e stigh iad. Chulr e ceangal nan tri chaoil orra gu daor '* gu docair, '« thilg e ann an ciiil na mbn' iad, 'a thuirt e ri 'Mitán biadh a dhèanamh gu luath, gu 'n robh e 'dol a dhèanamh obair nach d' rinn e riamh roimhe a leithid. " Gu de lin a dhuint," thuirt lie. " l>ol a thoirt nan crann do thriiiir mhac an rtgh." Thug e nloa am fear mor, 'l chulr e 'eheann air an ealaig'a thog e 'n tuadh. "Na dean I na dean," thnirt eaan, " '* gabhaidh mi bat fhéln an cbir 'a an encolr gu bràih." Tbng e nlos an lin am fear mtadlionach ; cliuir e eheann air an ealaig, '« thog e 'n tuadh. " Na dean I Na dehn I " thuirt eian, " '• gabhaidh mi leat f he"m an cbir 'tan eucoir gu bràth. " Thug e n\o» an ain am fear bg, 'a rinn e 'leilhld tile air. " Na dean I Na dean I " thuirt Man, " 'a gabhaidh mi leat an Cbir 'a an eucoir gu brath." Dh' f halMi e fhéln an ain 'a trihir mhac an righ far an robh an rtgh. Dha gilli-an furachall an rtgh a' tealltainn a mach, cuín a chitheadh iad a' tlghinn a chudeachd le ceann Chonail Chrbbhl. Ghlaodh fear amach, gun robh e 'faicinn coalai triUIr mhac an rtgh а' ИцЫпп, 'а Conal Crbbhl air an toiacach. "Hal ha I thuirt an rtgli," (ha Conal Crbbhl a' tighinn 's mo thriiiir mhac aige fo Chis, ach ma tha iailsan, cha bhi miae. Cha d' thugadh e freagradh do Chonal Crbbbi, ach gn 'm bitheadh e air a chrochadh air Croich air Moch Maduinn an latha alaireach. Nia chaidh a Chroich a chtiir anas, 'a bha Conal Crbbhl gu blii air a chrochadh ; ach ghlaodh mac mbr an righ, " Tblid mlae na kite." (¡Maotlh mac meadhonach an rtgh, " Th«(id mi-<i 'na kite." Ghlaodh mac bg an righ, " Theul miae 'na kite." Ghabh an rtgh mtathlachd an ao ri 'chuid mac. Thuirt Conal Crbbhi an ain, " N1 ainn long mhbr agua theid sinn a ghoid na 'n tri bigeach bhlara, dhubha a tha aig rtgh Kirlnn, 's ni siun rioghacbd Shasulnn со bearucli aa bha I riamh.

'Noalr a bha 'n long deaa, chaidh a toiatach ri muir 'a a deiraadh ri Иг, 'a thog iad na atüll bhrtaca, bha.idealacli ri aghaidh nao crann fada, fulannach, 'a cha robh crann gun lubadh na tebl gun reubadh, 'a bba faochagan ruidh a chladalch a glagadaich air a b-nrlar. Bainig iad paileas righ Eirinn ; Chaidh iad a stigh do 'a

138 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

ithbull, ach a nunir a chuireadh Conal Crbbhi a lamb, air n» h-iiigeich bhlhra, dhubha, Icigeadh na h-oigeicb tgreuch asda. Gblaodli righ Eirinn, " Bitliibh a mach, f hearaibh, ilia Cuideiginn a car dragh air na h-oigeich." Chaidh lad a mach, '« dh' f heucb iad sh'ios aa »huai ach cha n' f hac tad duine. Bha aeann togsaid an ceann abto* an itubuill, agus bba Conal Crbbhi 'a triiiir nihac an rïgh 'gam folach f ht.!in 's an togsaid. 'Apair a chaidh iuJsaii a mach, cbuir Conal a lainh air an uigcach, ach Icig an t-blgeach agreucb us. Kiun iad so tri unirent), agua air an treas trbmh, tliulrt fear do na bba au chuid- eacbd, nach do aboall iad san togsaid. SI mill iad an aiu, 'a f buair iad triiiir mime an riyli agua Conal anns an togsaid. Chaidh an tabbairt a stigh a dh' ionnnaidh an righ. " Ha t ha ! a bheist liath," tbuirt an righ, " 'a iomadh Cron a rinn thu, mu 'n do amaoinich thu tighinn a ghoid nan bigeach dhubh agamsa." Cbaidh ceangal nan tri cbaoil gu daor 's gu docaira chur air Conal Crbbhi, 's tbilgeadh an ciiil na moine e, '* cliaidb triiiir inhuc an righ a thoirt an iii rd staidhir. 'NiKiir a linn na fir a bha gu h-ard iad fuin Ihn do bbiadh, 'a do dbeoch, 'a ann a smauinich an righ lies a cbur a nios air Conal Crùbhi, a dh' innseadh sgeulachd. Cha bu ruith do mhac m6r an righ ach leum eios, g'a iarraidb. Thuirt an rtgh, " Thig a nlos an so, a bla!ist Hath, 's innis dhuinn sgeubchd." " Innsidh mi sin," tbuirt esan, " ma gheibh mi liuch innseadh, 'a cha 'n e mo cheunn Пи'in na ceann aon do 'n chuideachd." "tiheibh thu sin," thuirt an righ. "Tosd! thall an sin, 'a '¿isdibh ri sgeulachd Cbonail Cbrobhi," thuirt an righ ! " 'Nam' Rhiir bg, bha mi 'g iasgach latha aig taobb aibhne, 'e thhinig long mhiir seacbad orm ; tbuirt iad rium 'an gabhainn a' in' (philot) gu dbol an Hbimli; thuirt mi gu 'n dèanainn e, agus па li-iiil' hite, do 'n migeamaid, dh' fhebraicheadh iad, am b'e siud an Rbimh? 'a theirinn-sa nach li'i, 'a cha robh (las again, C'ait' air an l-saoghal mlibr an robh an Rbimh. Tbiiinig sinn mu dbcireadh gu b-eileau а Um 'u sin. Chaidh sinn air tir agus chaidh mise a ghabbail «raid feadb an eilean, agua dur a thill mi uir m' ais, bha 'n long air falbh. Uba mi 'n sin air m'f hogail leam f bêla, 'a cha robh lins agam de a dhèanainn. Bha mi 'dol aeachad air tigh a bba 'n sin, 's chunnaic mi bean ri caoineadh. Dh' fhebraich mi dhi, de 'm brbn a bba orra? Thuirt i rium 'gu 'n do bhosaicb ban-oigbre an eilean so bho cheann «6a aeuchduinnean agus gu 'n robh iad a' feitheamh ri brathair dhi 'bba air falbh o'n bhailc, ach gu 'n robh i ri'tibdhlacadh an latha so. Bha iad a' cruinneachadb gus an llodblacadb, 's bba mise 'nam measg, 'a 'nuair a cbuir iad slos anus an uaigh i, cbnir iad рос' oir fuidb 'ceann, 's рос' airgid fuidb casan. Tbuirt mise rium i brin, gu 'm b'fhearr sud agam fhéin, nach robh e gu feum sam bith dh1 ¡st.

80EULACUD CHONAIL CHROBIIIE. 139

'Noalr a thMnig an oidhche thill mi air m' ail gus an nalgh, 'nuair a chladhalch mi 'n nalgh, 'a a bha ml tighlnn a n\ot leis an br 'a leia an airgiod, rag mi air a chlach a bha air beul na h-uaighe. Tbnit a chlach a nuas, 's bha miae cbmhladh ris a chailleach mharbh an «in. Air do laimhaa, a righ Eirinn, 'a air mo laimh-sa, ge'a saor e, mur rolih mi ni bu rhniaidtv cbmhladh ris a challlich na tha mi 'n so fo fiochd-aa, 's dull ri dol aa agam. "Hal Hal a bhclat Hath, thhinig tha as an sin, arhchatcid thu lu an so." " Thoir dhomh a nis flach m' niKgeul," araa Conal. " On de sin," thuirt an righ. Tha mac mor righ shasuinn, agus nighean mhbr righ Eirinn a bhi air am pbsadh ri 'cheile, agua fear do na h-bigeich bhlara, dhubha na thocharadh." • Gheibh tha sin, thuirt an rtgh." Chaidh beireachd air Canal Crbbhi, 's ceangal nan tri chaoil a cliuir air gu daor 'a gu dbcair, 'a a thilgeil an ciiil n« moine, 's cliaidh báñala flchead oidhche 's flchead latha a dhcanamh do 'n charald bg. 'Nuair a bha lad agith an sin ag itheadh '• ag M, thuirt an righ, "gu 'm b'fhearr Dos a cliuir aira bhclat liath, 'sgu'ninnseadhlgademarfhualr é aa an uagh." Cha bu riiith ach learn le mac roeadbonach an righ gu dol g'a iaraidh. Bha e cinnteach gu 'faigheadh e pbsadh dha f livin, mar f huair e d'à bhrathair. Chaidh e sïos 'a thug e nlos e. Thuirt an righ, " Thig a n\o» 's innls dhninn cionnaa a f huair thu as an oaigh." " Innsidh mi sin," thuirt Conal Crobbi, * ma gheibh mi flach innscadh, 's cha 'n e mo eheann fein, na ceann h-aon a lha aa cbuideacbd." "Uheibli thu sin," thuirt an righ.

Bha miae an sin gus an latha. Thhinig brhthair na ban-olghre dhachaidh, 's dh' f heumadli e aealladh d'à phiithar f halcinn agoa dar a bha lad a cladhach na h-oaighe, ghlaodh mise, O beir air laimh orm l 'S am fear nach fanadh ri 'bhogha cha 'n f hanadh ri Vlilaidheamh, 's lad a gUodhaich gu 'n robb am fear bo rabiosa an alud, 's bha miae с ho loath ri h-aon аса f h#in. Bha mi 'n sin air feadh an eilean go 'n f hioi At 'n taobh a rachainn. Thainlg mi 'n sin tan u inn air Uihir ghillean bga, 's lad a culr chrann.

Dh' f hebraich mi dhiubh, " De a bha iad a deanamh mar sind." Thnirt lad "de mo ghnothuchsa de bha lad a deanamh." "Hud I Hud 1 " ana " ml f he"in, innsldh sibh dhomh do" tha sibh a deanamh." "MiU," thuirt ladsan, "thug famhair mbr air falbh ar piuthar 's ilia slnn a coir chrann fench со againn a theld slos do 'n toll so g'a h-larraidh." Chuir miae crann leo 's cha robh ann ach gn'n d' thhinig an crann orm fholn gu dol sloa g* a h-iarraidb. lad sfos mi ann an cllabh. Bha an tin an aon bboirionnach bhbidhche a chunnak ml riabh, 's I t^chras snath bir far «/

'— alrgid. "01 thuirt," IM rium, fheïn, "de mar thhinig

I 40 VEST HIGHLAND TALES.

thuMui so?" "Thainig miseá nuas gu d' larraldh tha do Ihriuir bhraithrean a leitheamh ort aig beul au tuill, «gui cuiridh sibh a nuas an cliabh am màireach gu in' iarraidh-u." " Ma bhitheaa mi beb '» maith, '• mar bi cha 'n 'eil albarrach uir." Cha robh mi ich goiiid au lia a nuair a chuala ml ьЫгщр '• atararaich a tigliiuu •ig ai» fhamhair. Cha riibh fias again caite an rachaiiin am falach; ach chunnaic mi dun 6ir '• airgid an taobh thall падпЬ an fhamhair. Smaoinich mi nach robh bile air bjlilh a b' fhelirr dhomli dol am fulich na 'manag an bir. Thainig am fumlmir a High, 'a cailleach mliarbh slaodadh rie path barraU bröig' alge. Sheall e ahba '• sheall e ahuas, 'a dar nach Гас e U' air ihoiteach air, leig e burrall mor caoiuiílh aa. Thug e datbadh air na caille- achan roimh'n ghealbhan's dh' ith e iatl. Cha robh finos aig an fhamhair an so de 'n rud a b1 f hciirr a chumadh f badal deth, ach imaointich e gu 'n rachadh e a chunntaa a cbuid oir ¡i's airgid. Cha robh e ach giiirid an sin 'nuair a chuir e liimh air mo cheaiin f h¿in. " A Hlii'ist I " thuirt am famhair, " 's loma droch rud a rinn thu riamh mu 'n do smaoinich thu tighinn an to a thoirt air falbh a' bhoirinnaich bhbldheach a bh' agam-aa." "Cha 'n'eil feum agamaa ort an иск lui, ach 'a tu ghlanas m' f hiuclan mocb am màireach. Bha a bheiat agUh 'a chaidil e 'n ddigh na caillich itheadh. Chunnaic mi blor mbr febla r! taobh a ghealbhain. Chuir ml 'n lela-meadhoin an telne am bior iar- uinn, gua an robh e dearg. Bha 'm famhair'na throm chadal, 'a a bheul foagailte, 'a e Vùchdail 'a a eeideil. Thug mi 'm blor dearg аз an teine, 'a chuir ml aloa am beul an f hamhair e. Thug e grud leum gu taobh thall na h-uaimh, '» bhuail e ceann a bhior ria a' bhalla '• chaidh e mach roi 'n cheann eile. Rug mi air claidheainh mbr an fbamluir, agua le aon bheum, chuir mi 'n ceann dheth. Air an latha maireach, thàinig an cliabh a nuai gu m'iarraidh f lu'in. Ach imaolnich ml gu 'n liuiiuiiin an cliul.li do dh' i>r 'a do dh' airgiod an fhamhair, 'a dar a blia e 'm mcadhon an tuill, le cudtbroman Ыг '> an airgid, bhria an iris, limit mi nuaa a meaag chlachan, '» phria, 'a dhris, 'a air do Ihiinhsa, a rtgh Eirinn, 'a air mo làimha ge 'мог e, bha mi 'n cii» bu chruaidlie na tha rai иск-luí fu t'iouhdaa, '» dull agam ri dol as." " Ah I a i ilii-i4 I i. .Hi, tliainig Ihu at an sin, ach chat did thu as an so," ars'anrigh. "Thoirdhomh a nit nach m' urageul," araa Conal. "Da ain ? * thuirt an rlgh. " Tha mac meadhonach righ sliasuinn 's niglieun mheadhonacli righ Kirinn a bhi air am pbsadh ri Vlicilo 'a fear do na h-bigeich bhlkra, dhubha mar thochradh." "Tachraldh ain," thuirt an righ. Chaidh beireachd air Conal Crobhl 's a cheangal le tri chiiin chaoil, sa thilgeaxlh an cuil na mbine, 's chaidh bannis tichead oidhche 's fichead latha a dhèanamh do 'n chàraid ùig. An sin, 'nuair

SJGETLACHD CBOKalL СНВОВШЕ. 14!

a aa» lad «¿пЬ g ittead* • «g U.Oñrtn t^h.-p.'m atacan-

daoîfafa Coaal Crutihj a thoirt a шо* goa an mineado e cíonnas a fbnaír с nil» a aarnh aa f hamhair." Caía bo raitfa aeii leuia I« mac ug aa rigb do) am g' a iarraidL. Bits с cinnteacfa cv 'Iaigl>e»db с match« dha f Mia mar Г batir cdocfakcu. * Tuif а пи» аа ао а bbâst liath," Umîrt aa rieb, * 's nmia damn ciaroar a f iiuaîr tan a oaiçfa aa f hamhiif .* " Iraaidb mi «ш, ma pbeibb mi баеЬ imseadh, '• cha 'в с mo еЬхаял Them DO eeaim b-aon do ва 'bheil aa cbaideaebd.' ** Gheibh the am,1* thnirt an rich. ** Toad '. thall an ain, > eiedearoaid ri agemlacbd Cbooail Chro'jhi." thnht ar rich '. fW«l] J, bba mi« cm h'ioeal aa ain, 'i mi cpaiadeinacbd ai' m' aii '• air m' aghaidh. Bha mi 'dol »farbari air tiph a i>ba 'a au i cbunnak mi b«an aa ain, '• kaatbh aie* aan dama laimh, '» rçiaa aie* мл làimb eile, 'a i 'caoinaeadh Ghlaodli mi ГЬйв п'Ьс,*Сшп air do lamb a bhran d« I ha thu dol a dlieaaamh mar »in ?" * 0 !" thnirt iae, " tha mi tig tri famhaireaa an ao, a<m> <ih" Urr iad orm, mo leanabh boidheach a bbi marlih '• air a bhnrdi air aa ci"nn 'onair a thigeadh iad dhaefaaidh со 'n dinnfir. СЫ mi,' ana mine, • triuir dhaoioe crochta air croicfa thall an nod, l>h»ir linn a nuat fear dlnubh, tgat theld miae «na* aa ail«, '• dea>aichidh In саал an ajte do Irinibh." A cm a n'lair a th» nig na famhairean dhacbaidh gv 'a dinneir, tlieireadb fear dhiubh, "'8 « PO f«>il an lemibh, '§ Uwireadb fear eile," cha 'a e. Thoirt fear dhiobh, gu 'n racbadh e a tbuirt eUoig a fear do na bha air a chroich, agvi gv 'faiceadh e со dbio '»e feóil an leinibh a bha iad eg itnodh. 'S mi f heln a cbeod f hear a thacbair orra, 'l air do laimh, a rtgb Eirinn, 'i air mo laimbta, ge aaor e, mor robh mi ann an cruaidh-cha» ni bo mho 'noair a bha 'n «taoig a tighinn a«am, na tha mi nocfad to tlocbdaa '• diiil ri dol aa agam." * A bhéist liath, thainig tha аа an ain, ach cha d' thig tha as an ao,"ar»' an rtgh. " Thoir dbomh a nia doali m' orageul." * Gbeibh thu ain," an' an ñgh. " 'S e mo dhoaia, mac 6g rtgh Shaninn, '• nighean 6g righ Eirinn a bhi powia, 'a fear do ni h-oigeich dhnbha mar thochradh. Chaidh beireachd air Conal Crbbhi, 'sa cheangal I« cinn nan tri chaoile gu daor 'a pi docair, '• a thilgradh îlot an ciiil na mbinr, 's chaidh bannis ftchrad latha 's fichead oidhche a dhèanamh do 'a charaid big 'Nuair a bha iad sc'ilh 'g ilheadh 's a g' Ы, ihuirt an righ, " gu li'f heàrr a bhelit liath ad a thoirt a nio«, a dh' innseadh de mar thkinig e blihrr na eroiche." Thag (art an во а nioa mi f Win. " Thig a nbs, a bhelst liath an so, 's innis dhuinn de msr f huair tha bhsir na Croiche." "Innsidh mi sin," area mi fhfin, "ma gheibh ml duals mhaith." "Gheibh Urn sin," thnirt an righ. (Well) a nuair a gbabh na (amhairean an dinneir bha lad eg'ilh, 's thuit lad 'nan cailal.

I 42 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

'Nuair a chunnaic mise to, thainig ml nuns 't thug a' bliean dbomli claidheamh mör, laarach soluis a bha aig fear do nu famlmircan, 's cha robb mi fada a tilgeadh nan ceanu do na famhairean. Bha mi fhein 's am boirlonnacb an so gun Пион againn donnas a gheibheamaiil a ним a1 uamh an f hamhuir. Db' f halbh ainn gu ceann ehios na h-uaimh 's lean sinn an sin rathad cumhang roi chreag gus an d' thainig sinn gu solus 's gu bior-linn luingeanach an fhambair. Smuainicb mi fln:in gum pillinn air m' uis agus gu 'n luchd- aichinn a bhior-linn lo or's le airgiod an fbanihair, agus mar so file-in rinn mi. Dh' fhalbh mi leis a bbior-linn fo shcol gus an d' thainig mi gu h-eilean nach b' aithne dhomh. Chaidh an long, 's am boirionach, 's an leanabh a thoirt uam, 's fagar mise an sin gu tighin dhachaidh mär a b'f hearr a dh* f haodainn. Fbuair mi dbachaidh aon uair eile do Shasunn, ged tha mi 'n so a nochd. Ghlaodh boirionnach a bha na luidhe san t-seoniar, " 0 a r'igh, beiribh air an duine so." " Bu mhise am boirionach a bha 'n sin, 's bu tusa an leanabh." 'S aun an so a bha 'in meas air Conal Crbbbi, 's thug an righ dha a bbior-linn Ihn iiir 's alrgid an f bamhair 's rinn e riogbacbd Sluuuinn cho beartach 's a bha i riamh.

Thii story wu told to me at Ьтсгагу, April 25, 1859, by Qilliea. It was told with the air of a man telling a serious story, and anxious to tell it correctly. The narrative was interlarded with explanations of the words used, and the incidents described. Those who sat about the fire argued points in the story. These were John MacKenzie, fisherman ; John Mac- Donald, travelling tinker ; John Clerk, our host, formerly miller to the Duke of Argyle ; and some others, whose names I have forgotten The story is very correctly written. I took notes at the time, and they agree with the Gaelic as written by Hector Urquhart, from the dictation of Gillies.

Vil.

THE TALE OF CONNAL. From Kenneth MocLennan, Pool Ewe.

was a king over Eirinn once, who was named King Cruochan, and he had a eon who was called Connal MacKîgTT Cruachan. The mother of Connal died, and his father married another woman. She was for finishing Connal, so that the kingdom might belong to her own posterity. He had a foster mother, and it was in the house of his foster mother that he made his home. Ho and his eldest brother were right fond of each other ; and the mother was vexed because Connal was so fond of her big son. There was a bishop in the place, and he died ; and he desired that his gold and silver should be placed along with him in the grave. Connal was at the bishop's burying, and he saw a great bag of gold being placed at the bishop's head, and a bag of silver at his feet, in the grave. Connal said to his five foster brothers, that they would go in si-arch of the bishop's gold ; and when they reached the grave, Connal asked them which they would rather ; go down into the grave, or hold up the flagstone. They said that they would hold up the flag. Connal went down ; and whatever the squealing was that they heard, they let go the flag and they took to their solee home. Here he was, in the grave on

144 WEST HIORLAND TALES.

top of the bishop. When the five of foster brothers readied the house, their mother was somewhat more sorrowful for Connal than she would have been for the live. At the end of seven mornings, there went a company of young lads to take the gold out of the bishop's grave, and when they reached the grave they throw the flog to the side of the further wall ; Connal stirred below, and when he stirred they went, and they left each arm and dress they had. Connal arose, and he took with him the gold, and arms and dress, and he reached his foster mother with them. They were all merry and lighthuarted as long as the gold and silver lasted.

There was a great giant near the place, who had a great deal of gold and silver in the foot of a rock ; and ho was promising a big of gold to any being that would go down in a creel. Many were lost in this way ; when the giant would let them down, and they would fill the creel, the giant would not let down the creel more till they died in the hole.

On a day of days, Connal met with the giant, and he рго!ш1ё\Т~птГа bag of gold, for that he should go down in the hole to fill a creel with the gold. Connal went down, and the giant was letting him down with a rope ; Connal filled the giant's creel with the gold, but the giant did not let down the creel to fetch Connal, and Connal was in the cave amongst the dead men and the gold.

When it beat the giant to get another man who would go down in the hole, he sent his own son down into the hole, and the sword of light in his lap, so that he might see before him.

When the young giant reached the ground of the cave, and when Conual saw him he caught the sword of light, and he took off the head of the young giant.

THE TALB OF CONN AU 14$

Then Connol put gold in the bottom of the creel, and he put gold over him ; and then he hid in the midst of the creel, and he gave a pull at the rope. The giant drew the creel, and when he did not see his son, lie threw the creel over the top of his head. Gonnal leaped out of the creel, and the black back of the giant's head (being) towards him, he laid a swift hand on the sword of light, and he took the head off the giant Then he betook himself to his foster mother's house with the creel of gold and the giant's sword_pi-liglit

After tliis, he went one day to hunt on Sliamh nn leirge. He was going forwards till he went into a great cave. Ho saw, at the upper part of the сато, а fine fair woman, who was thrusting the flesh stake at a big lump of a baby ; and every thrust she would give the spit, the babe would give a laugh, and she would begin to weep. Connal spoke, and he said,— " Woman, what ails thee at the child without reason t" " Oh, said she, " since Ilion art an able man thyself, kill the baby and set it on this stake, till I roast it for the giant" Ho caught hold of the baby, and ho put а plaid that he had on about the babe, and he hid the baby at the side of the cave.

Then were a great many dead bodies at the side of the cave, and he set one of them on the stake, and the woman was roasting it. v

Then was heard under ground trembling and than- der coming, and he would rather that he was out Here ho sprang in the place of the corpse that was at the fire, in the very midst of the bodies. The giant came, and he asked, " Was the roust ready t " He began to eat, and he said, " Fiu fnu hoagrich ; it 's no wonder that thy own flesh is tough ; it is tough on thy brat"

When the giant hod eaten that one, he went to count

WEST IIlililí.ЛХП TALES.

Hit! bodies ; and tlio way ho had of counting tliom was, to catch hold of them by thu two smalls of the leg, and to to toss them past the top of his head ; and ho counted them back and forwards thus three or four times ; and as he found Connal somewhat heavier, and that he was soft and fat, he took that slice out of him from the back of i his head to his groin. He roasted this at the lin1, nnd he ute it, and then ho fell asleep. Connnl winked to the woman to set the ilesh stake in the fire. She did this, and when the spit grow white after it was red, he thrust the spit through the giant's heart, and the giant was dead.

Then Counal went and he set the woman on her path homewards, and then ho went home himself. His, stepmother sent him and her own son to steal the whitefaced horse from the King of Italy, " Ivulnilt ;" and they wont together to steal tho whitc- J faced horse, and every time they would lay hand on him, tho whitefuced horso would let out an ialt (neigh ?). A " company " came out, aud they were caught« The binding of tho three smalls was bid on them straitly and painfully. " Thou big rod man," said tho king, " wort thou ever in so hard a ease as that 1" " A little tightening for me, and a loosening for my comrade, and I will tell thco that," .said CoiiimL

Tho Queen of tho Enduilt was beholding Connal.

Then Connal said :—

" Reven môme во sadly mine, As I dwelt on (ho bishop's top, That vbli was longest fur шс, Though t «-.is the strongest myself. At thu end of the seventh morn An opening grave was ксеп, And I would be up before 'I b.: one that was soonest down.

ТНВ ТАЬК OF CONN AL. I 47

a Thoy thought I was a dead man.

Ля I rose l nun the mould of earth ; At the first of tin- harsh bursting They loft their arms and their dresses. I gave the leap of the nimble one, As I vns naked and bare. Т was sud for me, a vagabond,

I To enjoy the bishop's gold."

" Tighten well, and right well," said the king ; " it was not in one good place that he ever was ; great is the ill ho has done." Then he was tightened somewhat lighter, and somewhat tighter ; and the king said, " Thou groat red man, wert thou ever in a harder case than that 7 " " Tighten myself, and let a little slock with this one beside me, and I will tell thce that"

They did that " I was," said he,

" Nine morns in the cave of gold ; My meat was the body of bones, Sinews of feet and bands. At the end of tho ninth morn A descending creel was seen ; Then I caught hold on the creel, And laid gold above and below ; I made my biding within the creel ; I took with me the glaive of light, The luckiest turn that I did."

They gave him the next tightening, and the king asked him, " Wert thou ever in case, or extremity, as hard as that t " "Л little tightening for myself, and a slack for my comrade, and I will tell thee that"

They did this.

" On a day on Sliabb na leirge, As I went into a cave, I saw a smooth, fair, mother-eyed wife, Thrusting tho stake lor tho llosh

148 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

At s young unreasoning child. ' Then,' said I,

' What causee thy grief, ob wife,

At that unreasoning child V"

' Though he 'a tender and comely,' laid the,

' Set this baby at the fire.'

Then I caught hold on the boy,

And wrapped my ' maundal' aronod ;

Then I brought up the great big corpse

That was up in the front of the heap ;

Then I heard, Turstar, Tarstar, and Turaraich,

The тегу earth mingling together ;

But when it was his to be fallen

Into the soundest of sleep,

There fell, by myself, the forest fiend ;

I drew back the stake of the roast,

And 1 thrust it into his maw."

There was the Queen, and she was listening to each

thing that Connal suffered and said ; and when she

heard this, she sprang and cut each binding that was

on Connal and on his comrade ; and she said, " I am

.л the woman that was there ; " and to the king, " thou

(f "> art the son that was yonder."

Connal married the king's daughter, and together ^ they rode the whitefaced horse home ; and there I left them.

From ПЕСТОВ UIKJDIIART, June 27, 1859. Recited by KE>- HETII M Ai'I.KNNAN of Turnaig, Pool Ewe, Hoes-shire, aged 7u, who learned it from an old man when he was a boy.

SQEULACHD CHONAILL.

Вял righ air Eirinn aon «air da 'm b-ainm righ Crnachan, 's bha mac aige, ris an abradh iad Conall, mac righ Cruachan. Chaochail raathair Chonaill, agus phos athair bean eile. Bha i air son cu r a«

8OEULACHD CHONAILL. I 49

do Chonâll, cbom 'i gu'm biodh an rloghachd «ig a aliochd fein. Bha muime clikhe aige-san, agus 's ann an tigh « mhuime boa e 'dèanamh a dhachaidh. Bh» e (Mm 's a bhràthair bu «bine ro rah«sail alg a' chéDe, ago* bh» mhathair gambJas&ch air son gu robh Conall clio meajail alg а тал mor. Bha Easbuig inns an kite, agus chaochall f, aguí dh' iarr e 'n t-br 'i an t-airgiod »ige, a chuir cuide ris anni an uiigh. Dha Conall aig tiodhlacadh nn Easbuig, «gus cbun- naie e рос mor bin a dol aig ccann an Kosbuig, agus pbc airgid aig a cbaaan 's an uaigh. Thubhairt Conall ri chuignear chomh-dhaltan, " gu 'rachadh ¡ad »!r thbir br an Easbuig," agus nur a rainig iad an naigh, db' fhebralch Conall dhiubh-san. "Co b' f hearr leo dol stos do 'n uaigh na 'n leae a chnmail suas? " Thuirt iadsan gu cumadh iad an leae suas. Chaidh Conall s\os, aguí ge b' e agiambail a chual1 iadsan, leig lad as an leac, agus thug iad na bninn aada dbachaidb. Bha e 'n so 's an uaigh air muin an Easbuig. 'Nuair a rainig na cuignear bhraithrean altrum an tigh, bha 'in mathair ni bu bhrbnaiche airaon Chonaill na bhitheadh i airsoa a Chiiigear. An ceann seachd tralthean, dh' fbalbh Cuideachd do ghillean bga a thoirt an 6ir a nalgh an eaabnig' ague nur a rainig iad an uaigh, thug iad an leae ri Uobh a bhalla thall Ghluais Conall shlos, agua nur a gbluaia, dh' f ualbh Iadsan : dh' f bag lad gach arm 's aodach ЪЬа аса ; dh'ciricb Conall, 's thug e lela gach br, 's gach arm, 's gach aodach, 'a rainlg • mhuime chiche lela. Bha iad nile go subhach, eblasach, cbo fad, 's a mhalr an t-hr 's an t-airgiod. Bha famhair mbr dliith do'n àitc, aig an robb mbran blr 's airgid ann an Cois Crcig«, agua bha e 'gealltainn рос bir do neacb Sam bith a rachadh sine ann an cliabh. Bha mbran air an call mar so. Nur a leigeadh am famhair slos lad, 's a lionadh iad an Cliabh, cha chuireadh am famhair aloe an cliabh tuillidh, gns am baaalcbeadh iailsan 'tan toll. Lath» do na laithcan, tbacbair Conall ris an f h am hair, agus gheall e рос bir dha airson a dhol s'ms do 'n toll a Donadh cliabh do'n br. Chaidh Conall «los, agua bha 'm famhalr 'ga leigeil slos le rbp. Uon Conal cliabh an fhamhair do 'n br, ach cha do leig am famhair sloe an cliabh air Ihuir Chooaill, 's bha Conall 'san uaigh measg nan daoine marbha, 'a an <>ir. 'Nuair a dh' fhairslich air an fhamhair dnlne tuillidh f haotainn a rachadb s'los do 'n toll, chuir e 'mhae f htfn skos do 'n toll's an claidheamh solnia air ucbd, chum 's gn 'faiceadh e roimbe. Nur a rainig am famhair bg grand na h-naimh, 'aa chunnaio Conall e, rug * air a cblaldbeamh sholula, agua thug e 'n ceann do 'n f barn- hair bg. Cbuir Conall an so br ann am mas a' cbleibh, agua choir e br os a cheann : rinn a 'n so f halach am meadhon a' chlr'ibh : thug e tarrulng air an rbp ; tharming am famhair an cliabh, agus dar nach

I 50 WEBT HIGHLAND TALES.

f ic f 'mliac 'sa chliabh, thilg e 'n cliabh thar mullach a chinn. Leum Conall as a' chliabh, '» dubh chill cinn an f haiuluiir ris: (hug e grid larnli iiir a' chlaidueuroh sholuis, ugus thug e 'n ceaiin do 'n f lumliair. Thug e 'n su tigh a mhuinio clinch* air, lets a chliitbh oir, 'a claldh- ramh »пЫя an f bamhair. 'Nn dlu:igh >o, chaidh e latha a shealgdo uhliabh па leirge. Illiu e gabhail air adhart, p\a an deach e »tlph, du till' uaiinh mbùr. Chunnaic e 'n uaclidar na h-unimh bean bhun, bliri-agha 's i putadh bior na foola ri ultach mor do Icanabh, 's na b- uile putadh л bhu iso 'luirt do 'n bliior, dlie.inailh an IcnnabU gùire, 'a thoisichcadli iso air cAoineadh. Labhair <\>tnill, 's tbubliairc c, " DC futh do bhrhin, a hhean, ris an oganach gun chiall." " 0 !" o» ise, " bhn 'n is duine tapaidh thu f hein, niarbh an leanabhf 's cuir aii a bbinr su e, gus an ríii-t mi e do 'n f hamhair." Rug e air an lennabli, 'i chuir e 'n clroc a blia air mu 'n leanabh, 's dli' f holuich e 'n leanabli am taobli na h-ualmh. Dha mbran do chuirp mharbh' an Uobh na h-uainih, 's chuir e fear dliiubb air a' bhior, 's blia 'in boiriunnarh '(:n riistadb. Chnalas fo 'n talanih, cridi 's tiiirm a' tighinn, 's b' f hèarr leU gun robh e 'mui(: li : leum e 'n so an bite 'chuirp a blia ria an Uine, an teia-mcadhon nan Corp. 1 hbinig am lainliair 'в dh' f heôraich e, " 'n robh rosta bruich." Thótsich e air itheadli, 's tbubliairt e, " fin foul boagriclil cha 'n io^hnadh feoil righinn a bbi ort flicin, 's righinii air il'ia< un i." Dur a dh' itli am fambair am fenr ud, dh f halbh e chunnUdh nan corp, agus »e'n diiigh chunntais a bh'aig orra, beireachd air dhà chaol cuis' orra, ague 'gan tillgcadb scachnd thar mullach a chinn, agua chunnt e air ais 's air «dhart iad mnr DO tri no ceithir do dh'uairean; agua bho m a f huair e Conall ni bu tniiine, 'se bog reanihar, thug e 'n stiall ud as bho chill a chinn gu mhauachan. libist e »o ris an leine, 's dh'ilh e i. Thuit e 'n sin 'nu chadul. Sinbid Cuñal air л bhoirionnach, bior na ftbla chuir 'san leine. Rinn i so, RRUS dur a dh' finis ain bior gral un driirh bhi d.'uvp, »liai li e 'ni bior trot' chridhe an f hamhair, 's bha 'm famhair mnrhli. Dh'f halbh Conall un so,'sihuir e'bhean uir a sli^he dhachaidh. Chaidh e 'n so dhachaidh e fhc'in. Chuir a mhnime air lalbh e MI' macfhdin a ghoid a Uhlhr-aghan bho righ na h-Kadailt, agus dh' halbh iad a ghoid a bhlhr-aghau le chéile, nuu.i na h-uile unir, a chuireidh isd an laimh air a bhlbr-a);han, Icigcadh am blbr-iißlian (iitlt) u. Tlibinig cuideachd a mach 's chaidh an glucadh. Chniilh ccangal nun tri chuoil t diuir orra gn duor 's gn daingcnn. " Kiiir mhor ruaidh," an' an ri(;b, 'n robh thu 'n cas rianih dio cruaiuh an sin?" " Teannachadh b«ag dbouih flu-in, agus b^acliadh do ni' chompanach 'a innsidh mi sin," arca Conall. Шш baurigh па h- Kadailie 'ga fhaicinn. Thubhairt Conall an sin.

8OEULACBD CHONAILL. l 5 I

" Seachd trhth gu bronach dhonm. 'S mi chomhnuidh air mum an enslmig. 'Sann leamsa V (hail1 a' chdilidh «in, Ged 'sann lenm f lu:in Im treise. An ceann m seachdnmh trkth, Cliunnacan unich 'ga fongladh, 'S с»1 1'V bo lunitlic bliindli a nua.« аса, 'S mine a bhiodh дпая ait Ihoiiwacli. Slinoil leosan pu 'm bu mliarblian mi, Oho 'n uir thalmhaiHh '» mi 'g ¿Irtdb, Ann an loi'carli n (jharbh-bhristidh, Dir f hag ind an airm *a an cudach, Time mise lenm un Uislengan, 'Sml r ni* к to, nochdta, llu bhorhd dliomli*a '• mi 'm f bugtrrncli, llht maitheadh hr do 'n Кия

" Teanniiichibh e ßu maith '« RII ro mhailb," are' an rtgh, "cba b' ann nn ann kite maith a bha о riamh, > môr nn t-olc a rinn t." Chaidh an tun a thennnachadh ni bu tcinne, '• ni bu teinnt, 's thubliairt an т t h, " Fhir niliiur rnnidh, 'n robb (hu 'n cba riamh Im chruaidh na "in." " l'eannnich mi f Ii6in, 's leig lasachadb do 'n Thear so laimh riuni, 's innaiilh mi 'n sin." Kinn iad to. Bha mUe os c-an. " N.ini trhlha ann an uaimh an bit,

'Se bu bliiadh domh a' cholainn cbnbmh,

Fcithean chas apis Ihmh.

An ccann an nanidheadh Irhth.

Chunnacas cliabh a' tißhinn a mhun;

Ни;: mi 'n sin air a' chliabh,

'S chuir ml br fotham 's hr thnram,

'S rinn mi m' fholach ann r& Vhliabb,

'S thug mi leam an claidbramb aolnia

Turn u sona rinn mi riamh."

Thug iad an ath thcannachadh dha, s' dh' flioighncachd an i'i -Ь dhcüi, " An robb Iba 'n ciin na h-eÍRÍnn riamh cho rhruaidb 'sin?' " Teannnchadh beac dlminb f Min, 's laaachadh do m' cbompanach, 's Iniuidh mi 'n sin." Кит Ud so.

" Latha air sliabh na Icirpe dhomh 'S ml dol в strach do dh' uamh, Cbnnnaic mi bean mhln, bhan, mhatbair-sbuileach 'Si pntadh bior na feöla 111 Danach, '»e fun chinll.

I 52 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

Tliublmirt mise an sin,

De (bilí do bliróin, a bhean,

Itis an bganach '»nach eil eeillidh,

' Oír a niliiii oir a mliaiac,' ars' ise

' Cuir an leanabb so ri teallach '

Kujç mi 'u sin air a mhacan

'S tthuain mi шо tutianiidal uime

'S thug mi nioi an rod mör colainn

Л bha shuas an tus na tuime

Chuala mi 'n sin, turtar, tortor, agua turarsicb

Fior thalamh dol am measg a cbcile

Ach air bbith dhhsan tuiteam

Anns an t-suain chadail

'8 an do thuit fuathan na coille

Thug ml tarming air bior an rostaidh

'S sheol mi sud ri córr a gtioile."

Bha a' bhanrigh faicinn 'a ag élsdeachd gach ni bha Conall a' fulang 's ag radii, agus dur a clmal i so, leum 1 'a ghearr I gach ceangal a bha air Conall 's air a chompanacli, agus thubhairt i, " 'S mise 'm boirionnach a bha 'n sin, agus ris an righ 's tusa a mac a bha 'n sind." Plifis Conall nighean an righ, 's mharcsich iad le cho'Ue am blaradhan dacbaidh. 'S dh f hag mue aim a sin iad.

Recited by Kenneth MacLennan, Turnaig, Pool Ewe, Ross-shire. Written by Hector Urquhart, June 27,1859.

4. Another story, which seems to be a fragment of this tale made reasonable, forma part of a collection ver; well written in the Gaelic of Qcarrloch, Ross-shire, from the telling of old men, by Mr. Thoniaa Cameron, schoolmaster, at the request of Osgood H. MacKenzie, Esq., July 1859.

ALEXANDEK MioL)oMAU>, INYBRASDALK, tells bow DUdean Mor Macllle Phadraig, a local bero, famous for slaying " Fualithan " (bogles), in a winter that was very cold, on a day of hailing and snowing (sowing and winnowing) was taking the way of "A BURAIQIIE MUOIB" (the great top), and waa determined to reach as far as Lochbhraoia. Coming through a place called Lead leachacachan mu Thuath (na Fuath ?), be fell in with a woman, and be soon fell in with a new-born child. No house waa near, so he killed his horse, pot the mother and child inside, and left them in the snow. He went for help, and when

THE TALK OF CONNAL. 153

lie came buck he found them warm and well. He took care of them till the woman conld do for herself, and the child grew to be an able lad. He was named " MacMbuirich a cnrach an Eich," which name haï stuck to hie race to this day.

After this Uiidean came to poverty. On a cold winter's night of hailing and snowing, he wai going on a street in Dan Edin (Edinburgh), a woman put her head out of a window and cried, " It is cold this night on Leathad leacachan mn Thuath." " It is," said he. When she heard his Gaelic, she thought she was not far wrong, and asked him in. " What is the hardest • Cath ' that ever befel the« ?" said the woman. He repeated the story, and ended with,—" And though I am this night in Dun Edin, many is the hard fight that I have wrestled with." " I am the woman that was there, and this is the child," said she ; and she offered him shelter for the rest of his days.

Surely these are Connal, the robber ; and the king and his mother ; and the king's horse put to a new use, transferred to the Cowgate from Kiriim and Lochlann, and the forests of Germany ; brought down from the days of Sindbad, or of Ulysses, or from the fifteenth century, from the age of romance to the nineteenth century and to prose.

6. I liave another version of this story, called AH OADAICIIE DOBH, The Black Robber, told by Alexander MacNeill, fisherman in Barra, and written by Hector MacLcan in August 1859. It varies much from the others. The outline is nearly the same, but the pictures are different. I hope to find room for it.

The story resembles—

1st. The Bobber and his Sons, referred to in Grimm's third volume, as taken from a MS. of the fifteenth century. An old robber desires to become an honest man, but his three sons follow their profession, and try to steal the queen's borse. They are caught, and the old robber tells three stories of his own adventures to rescue them.

In the first, ho is caught by a giant and about to be eaten, but escapes by putting out the giant's eyes with " destructive ingredients." He gets oat of a cave by putting on the skin of a sheep. He puts on a gold ring which the giant gave him, which forces him to call out " here I am." He bites off his own finger, and so escapes.

151 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

Next—In a wilderness, haunted by strange creatures, ho finds я woman about tu kill hor child ая a dinner for some wild шеи. He makes her cook a hanged thief instead ; hange himself on a tree in place of the cnokcd thief, and has a slice cat from his side.

bist K , di,, giants, frightened by a clap of thunder, run away ; he returns to a civilized country, and the queen, as a reward for his stories, liberates the three sons.

2d. Part of this in manifestly the same as tbe Adventures of Ulysses in the Cave of the Cyclop.—(Odyssey, book ix.)

8d. And the adventure of Sindbad with the giants and dwarfs, on his third voyage (Arabian Nights). The Ont adventure, in tbe Islay version, may be compared with Sindbad's meeting with the serpents and with the elephants. And

4th. With a Highland story, of some laird of Rasa, whose boat was upset by a company of cats, headed by one largo bhtck cat ; supposed to be a troop of witches headed by their master.

C. The incident of being buried in a treasure cave with the dead, is common to the Arabian Nights. Sec Sindbad's Fourth Voyage, and Alladdin ; and nko,

7. To the Deccameron, second day, novel 5 ; where a man, after a number of adventures, is lowered into a well by two thieves. He is hauled up with a wheel and а горе by the watch, who are frightened and ran away, leaving their arms.

The three meet once more ; go to the cathedral, und raise up a marble slab laid over the grave of an archbibhop. \Vhen " Andreuccio " has gone in and robbed the grave, they solid him back fur a ring, and drop tbe slab. The priests come on the same errand as the thieves ; he frightens them, gets out with the ring, and returns to Perugia from Naples—" having laid out his iniinni' on a ring, whereas the intent of his journey was to have bought horses."

In all these, Qrcck, Italian, Arabic, German, and Gaelic, there is a general resemblance, but nothing more.

I have given three versions of the same story together, аз nn illustration of the manner in which popular tales actually exist ; and as specimens of language. Hie men who told tbe story live as far apart as is possible in the Highlands. I heard one of them tell it ; each has his own way of telling the incidents ; and each gives something peculiar to himself, or to his locality, which

THE TALE OF CONNAL. 155

the other* Icare ont. Evan MacLacblan, in discussing the MSS. in the Advocate's Library in 1812, referring (o l)ean Mac- Greggor's MS., written «bout 1526, says :—" MacUoiignll is compared to MacRuslsinn, the Polyphemus of our winter talcs." It would ftccrn, then, that this story líos been long known, and it is now widely spread in the Highlands.

The manners and customs of the king and his tenant are тегу highland, so far as they can be referred to the present day. Probably they are equally true pictures of bygone days. The king's sons probably visited their vassals, and got into all manner of scrapes. The vassals in all probability resented insults, and rebelled, and took to the wild woods and became outlaws. So Ihn roill was probably the resort of idlers and the place for news, ян it still is. The king, in all likelihood, lived very near his own stable, for there are no rains of palaces ; and it seems to hare been the part of a brave man to submit without flinching, to have his wrists and ankles tied to the «mall of his back, and be "tight • ened" and tortured; and then to recite his deeds as an Indian brave might do.

It seems, too, that " Lochlann," now Scandinavia, was once within easy sail of England and Ireland ; and that the King of Lnchlann knew the tenants of the neighbouring king. From tho history of tho Isle of Man, it appears that Ibrre really was a king called " Crovnn," who in also mentioned by Warsaae (pngf 287) n« the Norwegian God red Crovan who conquered Man, A.n., 1077. And in this, the stories are probably true recollections of manners and events, so fnr as they go. When it comes to giants, the story is just as likely to be true in the same sense. There probably wns a race of big man-eating savages somewhere on the road from east to west, if not all along the route ; for all popular tale« agre« in representing giants and wild men as living iu caves, hoarding wealth, eating men, and enslaving women.

In these stories the caves are described from nature. When (Tonal walks along the top of the high shore, "rough with cavus and gees," and falls into a cave which has an opening below, he does that which is not only possible but probable. I know many oaves on tlie west coa«t, where a giant might have walked in with his goats from a level sandy beach, near a dcop sea, and some where a man might fall into the further end through a hole in а

I 56 WEST II :• ! 1П.Л.М1 TALES.

level green «ward, and land safely ; many aro full of all that belong« to a iheop-fold, or a shelter used by goats and cattle, and by the men who take care of them.

I know one where a whole whisky distillery existed not very long ago ; I first landed in it from a boat to pick up a wild pigeon ; I afterwards scrambled into it from the shore ; and I have looked down into it from smooth green tnrf, through a hole in the roof, into which there flowed a little stream of water. An active man might drop into the far end on a heap offallen earth.

And here again comes the notion, that the so-called giants had swords so bright, that they shone in the dark like torches, and that they owned riches hid underground in holes.

Perhaps we may believe the whole as very nearly true. It may be that there really were such people, and that they were miners and shepherds ; when those who now tell stories about them, were wandering huntsmen armed with stone weapons.

The third version is remarkable as an instance of the way in wliioh poems of greater merit used to bo commonly, and still are occasionally recited. " Cuchullin " was partly told, partly recited, by an old man near Lochawe, within the memory of a clergyman who told me the fact. I heard Patrick Smith, in South Uist, and other men, so recite stories in alternate prose and verse, in 1859; and it appears that the Edda was so composed. Poems of the same nature as " the poems of Ossian," if not the poems themselves, were so recited by an old man in Bowmore more than sixty years ago, when my friend Mr. John Crawford, late Governor of Singapore, and a well-known linguist, was a school boy, who spoke little but Qaelio ; and when it was as rare to find a man amongst the peasantry in Islay who could speak English, as it is now remarkable to find one who cannot.

VUL MUECHAG A 'S MIOKACHAG.

Aira Dmrroch, Jame* \ПЬоа, Hector MmeLtaa, 1*Цт, tad man j otfacn in outer pert» of the Highland*.

and Meenaclmg went to gather fruit, and as Moorachug would gather Meenachug would eat Moorachng went to eeek a rod to lay on Meenachaig, and she -'eating his share of fruit.

"What's thy news to-day, oh Voorachai Г said the rod. " Т is my own news, that I am seeking a rod to lay on Meenachug, and she eating my shore of fruit.

" Thou wilt not get me until thou geltest an axo that will reap me," He reached the axe. "What's thy news to-day, oh Voorachai Г " Т is my own news that I am seeking an axe to reap rod — rod to lay on Meenachug — and she eating my share of fruit"

" Thou wilt not get me until thou geltest a stone to smooth me." He reached a stone. " What 's thy news to-day, oh Voorachai I" said the stone. "Tie my own news that I am seeking stone to smooth axo— axo to reap rod — rod to lay on Meenachaig — and she eating my share of fruit"

" Thou wilt not get me," said the stone, " till thou geltest water will wel me." He reached Iho waler. "Whal's Ihy news lo-day, oh Voorachai t " said the waler. "Tie my own news that I am seeking — water to stone — stone to smooth axe— axe to reap rod — rod

158 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

to lay on Moenachaig—and she eating my share of fruit"

" Thou wilt not get me," said the water, " till thou geltest a deer to swim ma" He reached the deer. " What 's thy news to-day, oh Voorachai t" said the deer. "Tie my own news, that I am seeking—deer to swiin water—water to stouo—stone to smooth axe —uxe to reap rod—rod to lay on Meenachaig—and she eating my share of fruit"

" Thou wilt not got me," said the deer, " until thou geltest a dog u> vun ma" He reached the dog. " What 's thy news to-day, oh Voorachai Î" said the dog. "Tis my own news that I am seeking—dog to run deer—deer to swim v/ater—water to stone—stone to smooth axe—axe to reap rod—rod to lay on Mccn- uchaig—and she eating my share of fruit"

" Thou wilt not get me," said the dog, " till thou geltest butter to bo rubbed lo my feet" He reached the buller. " Whal 's Ihy news to-day, oh Voorachai 1" said tin) butter. " 'T is my own news, that I am seeking—butler to feet of dog—dog to run deer—deer to swim water— water to stone—stone to smooth axe— axe to reap rod—rod to lay on Meenachaig—and she eating my share of fruit"

" Thou wilt not get me," said the butter, " till thou getlesl a mouse will scrape me." He reached the mouse. " What 's thy news to-day, oh Voorachai f ' said the mouso. " 'T is my own news, lhat I am seeking—mouse to scrape butter—butter to feet of dog— dog to run deer—deer to swim water—water to stone —stone to smooth nxo—axe to reap rod—rod to lay on Meenachaig—and she eating my share of fruit."

" Thou wilt not got mo," said the mouse, " lili thou gellest a cat to hunt me." He reached the cat. " What 's thy news to-day, oh Voorachai Î" said the

ыиВСНЛО А'в MIONACHAO. 159

cat "'Tie my own news, that I am seeking—cat to hunt mouse—mouse to scrapo butter—butter to feet of Jog—dog to run deer—deer to swim water—water to stone—stone to smooth axe—axe to reap rod—rod to lay on Meenachaig—and she eating my share of fruit."

"Thou wilt not get me," said the cat, "until thou geltest milk for me." He reached the cow. " What 's thy news to-day, oh ! Voorachai ? " said the cow. " 'T is my own news, that I am seeking—milk for the cat——cat to hunt mouse—mouse to scrape butter— butter to feet of dog—dog to run deer—deer to swim water—water to stone—stone to smooth axe—axo to reap rod—rod to lay on Meenachaig—and she eating my share of fruit"

" Thou wilt not get milk from me till thou geltest a whisp from the barn gillie." He reached the barn gillie. "What's thy news to-day, oh Voorachai?" said the barn gillie. " 'T is my own news, that I am necking—a wliisp for the cow—a cow will shod milk for the cat—cat to hunt mouse—mouse to scrape butter —butter to feet of dog—dog to run deer—deer to swim water—water to stone—stone to smooth axe—axe to reap rod—rod to lay on Meenachaig—and she eating my share of fruit"

"Thou wilt not get a whiep from me," said the barn gillie, " till thou geltest a bonnoch for me from the kneading wife." He reached the kneading wife. "What's thy news to-day, oh Voorachai Î" said the kneading wife. "'Tie my own news, that I am seeking—Ixmnach to the barn gillie—whiep to the cow from the barn gillie—milk from the cow to the cat— cat will linn t mouse—mouse will scrape butler—butter to feet of dog—dog to run deer—deer to swim water —water to stone—stono to smooth axe—axe to reap

160 WEST II К ¡II LAND TALES.

rod—rod to lay on Meenachaig—and she eating my share of fruit."

"Thou wilt not get bonnach from me till thou bringest in water u ill knead it."

" How will I bring in the water Ï " " There is no vessel but that sowen's sieve."

Moorachug took with him the sowen's sieve. He reached the water, and every drop he would put in the sowen's sieve it would go through. A hoodie came over his head, and she cried, " Gawr-rng, gawr-rag, little silly, little silly." "Thou art right, oh hoodie," said Moorachug. " Crèah rooah s' coinnoach, crèah rooah s' côinneach," said the hoodie.

Moorachug set crèah rooah s" côinneach brown clay and moss to it, and he brought in the water to the kneading wife—and he got bonnach from the kneading wife to barn gillie—whisp from the barn gillie to the cow—milk from the cow to the cat—cat to hunt mouse —mouse to scrape butter—butter to feet of dog—dog to run deer—deer to swim water—water to stone— stone to smooth axe—axe to reap rod—rod to lay on Meenachaig—and she eating his share of fruit And when Moorachug returned Mecnachag had just DURST.

This ¡в the best known of all (aticHu* tales. It ia the infant ladder to learning a chain of cause and effect, and fully as sensible as any of its kind. It used to bo commonly taught to children of five or six years of age, and repeated by §chool boys, and it is still remembered by grown-up people in all parts оГ the Highlands. There are few variations. In one version the crow was a little bird ; in another a gull was introduced, which advised the use of sand to stuff the riddle.

The tale has sixteen steps, fonr of which contain doable ideas. The English house that Jack built has eleven. The Scotch old woman with the silver penny has twelve. The Norsk cock and hen a-nutting twelve, ten of which are donble. The German story in Grimm has five or six, «11 single ideas. All these

MUBCHABH À'в Ж1 ON ACH AG l6l .

are different, la Uirt tbe «dor» are Biorachan mor aguí Bior* chao Beag; in Sntberland, Moracbao agm Mionacban.

Tbc epeech of the Hoodie ii alvar* а т*гу clot« imilalio« of hi) note. In anothrr rrreion the му*, " Cum от »пи таят KOADH жа—Pat tough red clay to it ;" and the gtill Mid, ™ CVi« roLL BOO «n—Put »oft mod to it ;" which if rather the upvwh «f aome other bird. There are aérerai rare wordi in thii ; for example, " Gadhar," a dog.

MURCHADH A'S MIONACHAG.

I)n 'fholUi Murchailli a'l Micnarhig a bhualn nigh, '• mar a bhnaincadh Morchadh dh' ilhtuidh Mionachiif:. Dh 'IholMi Miirclmilh a dh' larraidh slat a a ghabhnll air MIomchnlR > I V Illirndh a rhiild »ugh— "De do naiphenchd an dlugh a Mhurclinidli ?" urn' in t-ilat. " 'Se mo nalglieacbd fi:in gu 'blinll ml 'g Itrrildli Hint я ghabhail air Mlonaclug '• 1 'g ithradh mo chiild ипцЬ." "Cha 'n fbaigh thu mise цш am faigh," " Ihn tungli a Miiiniiirn« ml." Khinlg t 'n taagh. " De do naigtieachd an dlugh a Mhnrchalilh ?" ««mo nalghcflchd ffln gn 'bhell ml 'g Inrraldh Tungh a lihualniu» Dint Slat a ghabhall air Mionarhaig '• I 'g Itheadh mo chulil «ngli- "Cha 'n fhaigb thn т1м gnt am fhalgh thu clurh а ПоЬЬм ml." " Kalnli; • 'chlach. V( do nafgheachd an rilngh a llliurchnlilli ?" uri' a' rhla» h. " 'Se mo naigbeachd If m ça 'hlwll ml 'g lamlclh Clach a n»l>h«<lli rnagh— Taiph a bboaln «lit — HUl a (rhabhall *\i Шолиг |I«|K '• I 'g itheadh mo ehnid tORh." Thi n rii*lgh thu ml»'," iir»' •' rhlarh, " fit am flight)» nifgc a fhliiirha« mi." Kklnig « 'n t-nl>(;> — " II« <b naigh«a''h'l an dingh a MhnrMnHhf " «nf M {-п!^;я, 'в • m* •tíehencM f/in еч bh»il mi 'p larrildh t)l*||« aw rhlni<h — <ЯагЬ • ПоЫ1*>)Ь tii^k— T«a(r> а Ыгаагп (Ы— Mat* цЬиМм!) air MlnncV- aig 'i i 'g i-.JMarfb яи гЬчИ Mgk. (Лм 'я fh*igh Ihn тм', or«' m t-«lagc, ри a« liicli tbe <U>lli а*Ья*тЬм ml." Kkinigr • 'м ••ИК.

' •») '« tarrnHIt Рм^Ь а »Ьтмтк ITiag* ам HHívirfc. Í^Kti а 1М>«иИ1| l<M«h. ТтчгЬ а Мим«и «»«« 8Ш a ghaMuH «ir MiMM*b>ri( '• I > )«Ьт>4К я*л rhml <n«V "f h» '• fW>í* ÜM аии^,' w/ am »ж**, * r« a

IÖ2 WEST HIGHLAND TILES.

aidli?" un' an gadhar. "'S e mo naigheachd iVin gu 'bheil mi 'g iarraidh Gadhar a ruith fladh. Fiadli a ilinhmli uieg'. Uisge ma cliloick. Clach a Hobhadh tuagb. Tuagh a bhuain slat. Slat a ghabhail air Mionachaig 'a i 'g itbeadh mo chuid eugh." " Cha 'o fhaigh thu mis," un' an gadhar, " gus am faigh tbu ¡m a nibar ri m' chasan." Rainlg e 'n t-iin. " De do naigheachd an diugh a Mhurch- aidb ?" ur»' an t-ini. " 'Se mo naigheachd IV in gu 'bbcil mi 'g iarr raidh Im chana gadhair. Gadhar a ruith fiadh. Fiadb a thnamh uisg1. Uisge ma chloich. Clach a Hobhadh tuagb. Tuagh a bbuain slat. Slat a ghabhail air Mionachaig '• i 'g ilheadh mo chuid sugh." " Cha 'n fhaigb thu mis'," ur*' an t-im, " gue am faigh thn Inch a •griobas mi." " Rainig e 'n luch. " De do uaigheachd an diugb a Murchaidb ?" ura'an luch. " Se mo naigheachd !•-'> n gu bbeil mi 'g iar- raidh. Luch a egriobailh im. Im chasa gadhair. Gadbar a ruith liadh. Fiadh a sknamh uisg'. Uisge ma cloich. Clach a Hobhadh tuagh. Tuagh a bbuain niât. Slat a ghabhail air Mionachaig 'a i 'g itheadh mo chuid sugh." " Cha 'n fhaigh thu mis'," or*' an luch, " gua am faigh thu cat a shealgas mi." Rhinig e 'n cat. " De do naigheachd an diugh a Mburcbaidh ?" urs' an cat. " 'Se mo naigheachd foin gu 'bheil mi 'g iarraidh Cat a shealg luch. Luch a sgrlobadh im. Im chusa gadhair. Gadhar a ruith fladh. Fiadh a shnamh uiag'. Ui*ge ma cbloich. Clach a lïoblmdh tuagh. Tuagh a bhuain slat Slat a gliabhail air blionachaig 's i 'g itheadh mo chuid sugh." "Cha 'n fhaigh thu mis'," urs' an cat, "gus am faigh thu bainne dhomb." Itainig e 'Bh6. "De do naigheacbd an diugb a Mhurchaidh?" urs' a' bhí>. " 'Se mo naigheachd fein gu' bheil mi 'g iarraidh Bainne do 'n chat. Cat a theulg luch. Luch a sgriobadh im. Im chasa gadhar. Gadhar a ruith fiudh. Fiadb a shnamh uisg'." Uisge urn chloich. Clach a Uoblmdh tuagb. Tuagh a bhuain (let. Slat a gbubliall air Mionachaig 'a 1 'g itheadh mo chuid sugh. "Clm'u fhaigh thu bainne uamsa, gus am fuigh thu sop o 'n ghille chabbaill. Rainig e 'n gille sabhaill. " Dé do naigheachd an diugb a Mhurchaidh ?" urs' an gille aabhaill. " 'Se mo naigheachd iVin gu 'bheil mi 'g iarraidh. Sop a gheobh bo. Bo bhligheadh bainne do 'n chat. Cat a shealg Inch. Luch a sgrlobadh im. Im chosa gadhar. Gadhar a ruith fiadb. Fiadh a slinhmh uisg'. Uuge ma chloich. Clach a liobhadh tuagh. Tuagh a bhuain niât. Slat a ghabliail air Mionachaig 's i 'g ilheadh mo chuid sugh. " Cha 'n fhaigh thu sop uamsa," ura' an gille «abhaill, " gus am faigh thu Bonnach dhomh o 'n Bhean fhuinne." Rainig e 'bhean fhuinne. " De do naigheachd an diucb a Mburchaidh?" urs' a' bbean fhuinne. " 'Se mo naigheachd féin gu 'bbeil mi' g iurraidh Bonnach do 'n gbille shabbaill. Sop do 'n Bho

MURCHADH A'B HIONAOHAO. 16j

0 'o Chille «habhaill. llaiim' o 'n Bbo do 'n chat Cat a «healpai Inch, buch a agitabas im. Im cbasa gadhair. Oadbar a ruilh uadb, Fladh a ahnarnb uiag'. Uisge ma chloich. Clach a Hobhadh tuagh. Tuagh a bhuain slat. Slat a phabhail air Mlonacbalg 'l

1 'g itbeadh mo chnid «ugh. "Cha 'n fbalgh thu bon nach un m« mar an d'thoir thu itlgh uieg' a db' fhainneai e." W mar a* bhelr mi »tigh an t-Uiage?" "Cha 'n 'eil âoithearh an n ach an Cria- thar Cabhrach «in." Thug Murchadh Ici« an Criathar Cabhrach, 'f ràinig • n t-uiage, '• a h-uilc denr a chulreadh • '• a' Chrlathar Chabh- racbrachadh e roimhe. Thklnig Feannag ai a chlonn 'a ßhlaoldb l "Gorrag,gorrag." "Tha thu ceart fbeannag," nraa Mnrchadh. "Creadh roagh 'a cbinneach, crèadh ruagh 'a cbinneach." Chuir Murchadh crèadh ruagh '« cbinneach rit, 's thug e 'itigh an t-UUgi, '» fhnair e Bonnach o 'n Blican fuinne do 'n Uhlll« ahabhalll. вор о 'n Chille «habhaill do 'n Bhb. Dahin' o 'n Ilhi. do 'n chat Cat a •hcal? loch. Luch a rgriobndh im. Im chau gadbalr. Oadhar a rulth fiadh. Fiadh a (hnamh uisg'. Uiage ma chloich. Claeb a Hobhadh tnagn. Tnagh a bhuain ilat Slat a ghabhail air Miona- chalg 'f l 'g itheadh a chuld angh. 'S nur a thill Hurchadh bba Uiooacbag an dclgb SOAIIIBADH 11

IX. THE BROWN BEAE OF ТИЕ GREEN GLEN.

From John MacUonald, Travelling Tinker.

was a king in Erin once, who had a leash of eons. JoluPwas the name of thii-yuimgest one, and it was said i li.it .ha woe not wise enough ; and this good worldly 'king lost the sight of his eyes, and the strength of his feet. The two eldest hrothers said that they would go seek three bottles of the water of the green Islo that wns about tho heaps of the deep.* And so it was that these two brothers went away. Now tho fool said that he would not believe but that hü himself would go also. And tho first big town he reached in his father's kingdom, there he sees his two brothers there, tho blackguards I " Oh I my boys," says tho young ono, " is it thus you are Ч " " With swiftness of foot," said they, "tako thyself home, or we will have thy life." " Don't bo afraid, lads. It is nothing to me to stay with you." Now John went away 011 his journey till he came to a great desert of a wood. " Hoo, hoo I " says John to himself, " It is not canny for me to walk this wood alone." The night was coming now, and growing pretty dark John ties the cripple jwhite^Jiorse that was under him to tho root of a tree, and he went up in the top himself. He was but a very short time in the top, when he saw a bear

• " Eileun naine a bha 'n iomal torra domhain.

THE BROWN BEAR OF ТЛЕ GREEN GLEN. 1 65

coming with a fiery cinder in his mouth. " Come down, son of the king of Erin," eays he. " Indeed, I won't come. I am thinking I am safer where I am." " But if thou wilt not come down, I will go up," said the bear. "Art thou, too, taking me for a fool 1 " eays John. " A shaggy, shambling creature like thee, climbing a tree I" "But if thou wilt not come down I will go up," says the bear, as he fell out of hand to climbing the tree. " Lord ! thou canst do that same Г said John ; " keep back from the root of the tree, thon, and I will go down to talk to thee." And when the son of Erin's king drew down, they came to chatting. The bear aaked him if he was hungry. " AVecl I by your leave," said John, " I am a little at this тегу вате time." The bear took that wonderful watchful turn and he catches a roebuck. " Now, son of Erin's king," says the bear, " whether wouldst thou like thy share of the buck boiled or raw 1 " " The sort of meat I used to get would be kind of plotted boiled," says John ; and thus it fell out John got his share roasted. "Now," said the bear, " lie down between my paws, and thou hast no cause to fear cold or hunger till morning." Early in the morning the Moon (bear) asked, " Art thou asleep, son of Erin's king t " " I am not very heavily," said he. " It is time for thee to be on thy soles then. Thy journey is long—two hundred miles ; but art thou a good horseman, John 1 " " There are worse than me at times," said he. " Thou hodst best get on top of me, then." He did this, and at the first leap John was to earth.

" Foil ! foil I" says John. " What ! thou art not bad at the trade thyself. Thou hadst best como back till we try thee again." And with nails and teeth he fastened on the Mathon, till they reached the end of the two hundred miles and a giant's house. " Now,

166 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

John," said the Mathon, " thou shalt go to pass the night in this giant's house ; " thou wilt find him pretty grumpy, but say thou that it was the brown bear of the green glen that set thee here for a night's share, and don't thou be afraid that thou wilt not get share and comfort." And he left the bear to go to the giant's house. "Son of Ireland's King," says the giant, " thy coming was in the prophecy ; but if I did not get thy father, I have got his son. I don't know whether I will put thee in the earth with my feet, or in the sky with my breath." " Thou wilt do neither of either," said John, " for it is the brown bear of the green glen that set me here." Come in, son of Erin's king," said he, " and thou shalt be well taken to this night" And as ho said, it was true. John got meat and drink without stint But to make a long tale short, the bear took John day after day to the third giant " Now," says the bear, " I have not much acquaintance with this giant, but thou wilt not be long in his house when thou must wrestle with him. And if he is too hard on thy back, say thou, ' If I had the brown bear of the green glen here, that was thy master.' " As soon as John went in—Ai I ai ! ! or ее ! ее ! !" says the giant, " If I did not get thy father, I have got his son;" and to grips they go. They would moke the boggy bog of the rocky rock. In the hardest place they would sink to the knee ; in the softest, up to the thighs ; and they would bring wells of spring water from the face of every rock. The giant gave Jolin а sore wrench or two. " Foil ! foil ! 1 " says he. " If I liad hero the brown bear of the grcon glen, thy leap would not be so hearty." And no sooner spoke ho tho word than the worthy bear was at his side. " Yes ! yes ! " says tho giant, "son of Erin's king, now I know thy matter better than thou dost thyself" So it was

THE BROWN BEAK OF THE GREEN GLEN. 167

that the giant ordered bis shepherd to bring home the best wether he had in the hill, and to throw his carcasa before the great door. "Now, John," says the giant, " an eagle will como and she will settle on the carcass of this wether, and there is a wart on the ear of this eagle which thou must cut off her with this sword, but a drop of blood thou must not draw." The eagle came, but she was not long eating when John drew close to her, and with one stroke he cut the wart off her without drawing one drop of blood. (" Och l it not that a fearful lie.' ") " Now," said the eagle, " come on the root of my two wings, for I know thy matter better than thou dost thyself." He did this ; and they were now on sea, and now on land, and now on the wing, till they reached the Green Isle. " Now, John," says she, " be quick, and fill thy three bottles ; remember that the black dogs are away just now." (" What dogs*" " Black dogs ; dost lliou not know that they always had black dogs chasing the Qrfigoracht") When he filled the bottles with the water out of the well, he sees a little house beside him. John said to himself that he would go in, and that he would see what was in it And the first chamber ho opened, he saw a full bottle. (" And what was in it Î " " What should be in it but whisky.") Ho filled a glass out of it, and he drank it ; and when he was going, he gave a glance, and the bottle was as full as it was before. " I will liavo this bottle along with the bottles of water," says he.

Then he went into another chamber, and he saw a loaf ; he took a slice out of it, but the loaf was as whole as it was before. " Ye gods ! I won't leave thee," says John. lie went on thus till he came to another chamber. He saw a great cheese ; he took а slice off the cheese, but it was as whole as ever. " I

168 WEST H Kl 11 LAN n TALES.

will have this along with the rest," says he. Then he went to another chamber, and he saw laid there the very prettiest little jewel of a woman he ever saw. " It were a groat pity not to kiss thy lips, my love," says John.

Soon after, John jumped on top of the eagle, and she took him on the self same steps till they reached the house of the big giant, and they were paying rent to the giant, and there was the sight of tenante and giants and meat and drink. " Well ! John," says the giant, " didst thou see such drink as this in thy father's house in Erin Î" " Pooh," says John, " Hoo ! my hero ; thou other man, I have a drink that is unlike il." He gave the giant a glass out of the bottle, hut the bottle was as full as it was before. " Well i " said the giant, " I will give thce myself two hundred notes, a bridle and a saddle for the bottle." " It is a bargain, then," says John, " but that the first sweetheart I ever had must get it if she comes the way." " She will get that," says the giant ; but, to make the long story short, he left each loaf and cheese with the two other giants, with the same covenant that the first sweetheart he ever had should get them if she came the way.

Now John reached his father's big town in Erin, and he sees his two brothers as he left them—the " blackguardan I" " You had best come with me, lads," says he, " and you will get a dress of cloth, and a horse and a saddle and bridle each." And so they did ; but when they were near to their father's house, the brothers thought that they had better kill him, and so it лгав that they sot on him. And when they thought he was dead, they throw him behind a dike ; and they took from him the three bottles of water, and they went home.' John was not too long here, when his father's smith came the way with a cart load of rusty

THE DROWN BEAB OP THE ORERN QLEM. 169

iron. John called ont, " Whoever the Christian is that is there, oh I that he should help him." The smith caught him, and he threw John amongst the iron ; and because the iron was so rusty, it went into each wound and soro that John had ; and во it was, that John became rough skinned and bald. llore we will leave John, and we will go back to the pretty little jewel that John left in the Green Isle. She became pale and heavy ; and at the end of three quarters, she had a fine lad son. "Oh ! in all the great world," says she, " how did I find this J " " Foil ! foil !" says tho hen- wife, "don't let that set thee thinking. Here's for thee a bird, and as soon as he sees the father of thy son, ho will hop on the top of his head." The Green Isle was gathered from end to end, and the people were put in at the back door and out at the front door ; but the bird did not stir, and the babe's father was not found. Now here, she said she would go through the world altogether till she should find the father of tho babe. Then she came to tho house of the big giant and sees tho bottle. "Ai I ni I I" said she, " who gave thee this bottle ? " Said the giant, " It was young John, son of Erin's king, that left it." " Well, then, the bottle is mine," said she. But to make the long story short, she came to the house of each giant, and she took with her each bottle, and each loaf, and each cheese, till at length and at last she came to the house of the king of Erin. Then the five-fifths of Erin were gathered, and the bridge of nobles of tho people ; they wero put in at the back door and out at the front door, but the bird did not stir. Then she asked if there was one other or any one else at all in Erin, that liad not been here. " I have a bald rough- skinned gillie in the smithy," said the smith, " but,"— " Bough on or off, send him here," says she. No sooner

17° WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

did the bird see the head of the bald rough-skinned gillie, than he took a flight and settles on the bald top of the rough-skinned lad. She caught him and kisseA him. Thou art the father of шу bubo.'1

" But, John," says the great king of Erin, " It is thou that göltest the bottles of water lor me." " Indeed, Ч was I," says John. " Weel, then, what art thou willing to do to thy two brothers Î " " The very thing they wished to do to me, do for them ;" and that same was done. John married the daughter of the king of the Green Isle, and they made a great rich wedding that lasted seven days and seven years, and thou couldst but hear leeg, leeg, and beog, beeg, solid sound and peg drawing. Gold a-crushing from the soles of their feet to the tips of their fingers, the length of seven years and seven days.

SGEUI.ACHD AIR MATII-GHAMHAINN DONN A U11LINN UAINNE.

Нмл righ air EIrinn aon u.iir, aig an robh triblr mime, 'a b' ainin don ftiear a b' oige Iain, '» blia с air a railh nach robh e glic na leoir, agi» « li.lili an ni;li saoghalta so scallailh a ghuilean, 's High nan cas. Thubhairt an da bliratlmir bu shine gun rm-hadh Ыэап air tbir tri botullusige do'n eilenn uaine abha 'n ioroall torra domboin, agus 'te lib' ann gun d' Thalbb an da bhruLhair so. Tbubhairt an t-amadan nach creideadh e iVin nach falbhadh e cuMeuchrl, agua a cheud bhailc- unir do'n d' thhing e ann an rtoghachd uthar, faiceara dha bhrkthair an ain 'пит blaigeartan I " О а bhalacha ! " ars' am fear ùg, " an ann mar MI a tha sibhse." "Air luathaa do chas," ara' ladean, "(hoir an tigh ort air neo bithidh do bhcutha againn." " Na bitlieadh eagal oirbh rom ham cha 'n fliiach leumsa fiinachd maille ribh." D'fhalbh Iain an so air a tliurua, gus an d'thhinig e gu fluach miir do choille. Hut Huth t ara' Iain ria Inn, " Cha 'neil e ciieasda dhbmhsa a' choille •o a cholseachd leam flu-in." líbu 'n oldhche a' tighinn a nis, 'a 1

80EULACHD AIR ИАТП-OHAMÜAINN. I 7 I

faa go math dorcha, Ccangailear Iain an t-each bacach, ban а ЬЬя foidhe rl ban cnoibh« '» ehaidh e fc4n sung 'na barr. Cha robb t ach gnirid 'na barr gn* am fae • math-ghamhainn a' tigbinn 's tibh- leog tlielne na bhoul. " Thig a nuns, a mhic i\gh Elrinn," an' esan. " Ou dearbh, elia d' thig, tha mt imaolntrachadh gn' bheil ml nia tiaraint« far am bholl im." " Ach mnr d' thig (hou nuai tln:i«l mira *uiu," ama 'm nuüi-ghamliainn. "'M bheil thuaa'gam ghabhail 'nam amulan cuidcachd," thoirt Jain. Creutair гоЬпкасЬ, liobarta coltach rlutaa a stnapadh cbraobh. " Ach mur d' thig thusa nuas, thc"id mis« •пае," an* am math-ghamhainn 'a • 'loirt a ghrad laimh air itreapadh nacnoibne. "'8 día ni thu sin fhe"in," thuirt lain. " Fan air t'als fo bhun na rraoibh« mala, 'a (held mi dos a bhruidhinn rin t." Aguí dur a thcirínn mac rtgh Elrínn a nuaa, thkinig lad gn cracaircachd. Dli' rhehrichV mhath-ghamhainn dlicth, 'an robb an t-acrai air? '• Uill I« 'r cead," an' Iain, " tha btagan orm dhetli 'sa cheart am lo fein." Thug am math-gbamhainn an igrlob nallach, aighcarach 'ud, '• belrtar air boc earba, " A nls, a mhic rtgh Eiriun," ana am m.iih- ghamhainn,"Co '§ feiirr Icat do chuid do'nbhoc brnich na amh." " An »tbrsa blüh a V abhairt dhomhsa rhaotainn, bhitheadh eeona plotadh brnich air," an' Iain. Agua 'sann я ao mar thachair. Fhualr Iain a chuld fhlin roíste. " A nia," arsa 'in math-ghamhainn, " luldh floe eadar mo spögan-аа,'« cha'n «agal fuachd no aeráis dhuit gn madainn." Hoch 'aa mhadalnn, dh'Shoighncachd am math-gbamhainn, " Am bheil thn 'd chadal, a mhic rtgh Eirinn." « Cha 'n 'eil nun - barrach trom," thuirt eaan. Tha 'n t-hm dhnit a bhl air do bhuinn mata, tha 'n t-antar fada, da cheuü mil« ; ach am bliell thn *nad 'mharcaiche math, Iain t " Tha na 'l mloaa na ml air aminnan," thuirt «an. "'S fehrr dhult tighinn alr mo mhninn mata." Rinn • so, agna air a cheud lenm, bna Iain ri talamb. " Foil I Foil I " an' Iain, d« 'cha 'n 'eil thn fheln dona air a chealrdl 'S f«arr dhuit Ughlnn air t-tis gns am feuch rinn a rithUt thu ; 's leiongan 'a nacían ghrelmich e ria a mha'ghan, gna an d' rainig iad свал n an d» cheud m\\t, '» tigli famhair. " Nie Iain," ana 'in mn'ghan, " tlirid Um chuir Machad na b-oiilhche ann nn tlgh an fhamhalr so." Gh?ibh thu e gn mailh Rnii, ach abair thuaa gur • mathghamhalnn dnnn a' ghlinn nain«, a chair thus* an so air aon cuid oidhche, igus na biodh eagal ort nach fhaigh thu cnid 'us comhnadh. 'S dh 'flibg am matbgham- halnn e'dol gu tigh an fhamhalr. "A mhic rlgh F.irinn," an"am famh air, Mia 'aan targradh thu bbl tighinn, ach mar d' fhnair mi t' athair, (buair mi 'inline ; cha 'n '«il fins agam со dhiti chnlrvas mi 'aan Ulamh thu I« m' chasan, no 'san adhar I« m'anail." " Cha dehn thn aon chuld do 'n da chuid," thuirt Iain. * Uir и mathghamhainn donn a' ghlinn наша a chuir mis« 'n so." " Thig a ati^h, a mhic righ Eirinn,"

172 WEST UIQHLAND TALES.

thutrt eun, "'s gheibh thu gabhail agad gu maith a nochd ;" ago» mar thubhalrt b 'fluor. Fhuair Iain biadli '• deocli gun ghainne ; acb gua an sgeulachd fada a dheuuamh goirid, thug am mathghambainn Iain latba an deigli latha gus an treas famhair. " 'A ni-," are' am mathghamhainn, " cba 'n 'eil moran eblais agamsaairan (bambair to, acb cba bin thu fada *na thigh dar a dh' fheumas tu dol a ghleachd ris, agua ma bhitheos e tuillidh 'a cruaidh air do shon, abair thus« na 'm blodh agamsa mu'ghan donn a ghliiin uaine, b'e sin do maigh- etir." Co luath 'sa cbaidh Iain a »ti-11, Ai 1 Ai I an' am famhair mor, mar d'fhuair mi t' athair, fliuair mi 'mhac, ague 'за cb¿ile ghabh iad ; 's dheanadh iad a bhogan don chreagan—an t-aite bu chruaidhe, rachadh iad foidh gu'n glume.in, san t-aite bu bhuige gu 'n sleisdean, 'a bheireadb iad fuuranan fior uisge a h-aodann gach creagain. Thug am famhalr f aagadh goirt na dithia du1,11,' Iain. " Foil t F&il 1." thuirt csan, na'm biodh agamsa an so mathghamhainn donn a' glilinn uaine, cha bhiodh do leum со aunndacb ; " agus cha luaith a labhair e 'm facal na bba am ma'glian coir ri 'thaobh. " Seadb I Seadh t ars' am famhair, a mbic righ Kirinn, tha nos agam a nis air do glmoth- ach n' is feurr na tha agad fbiin." 'So bb' unn gun d-brduich am famhair do 'n clAobuir aige am molt a b' fbearr a blia 'sa' bbeinn a thoirt dhachaidh, agus a' cblosach a tbilgeadh ma choinneamh an doruis mhoir. "A ni«, Iain, ars' am famhair, thig iolaire, agus luidhidh i air closach a inbuilt so, agus tha foinneomh air cluais na b-iolaire so, a dh' fbeumas tusa a ghearradh dbi le aon bbeum leis »' cblaidheamh so, acb deur fola cha 'n 'fheud thu tharruinn." Thainig an iolaire, 's cha robb i fada 'g itheadh dar a theann Iain rilho, 's le aon bbeum ghehrr e 'm foinneamh dbi gun aon deur fola a tharruinn. " Ania arsa 'n iolairo, thig air bun mo dim sgi'illie, bho 'n a (ha flus agam air do ghnothuch n' ¡s fearr na tir agad fe"in." liinn e so, agus bba iad uair air muir, 's uair uir'talamli, 's uair air an sgiathan, gus an d'rhinig iad an t-Kilean uaine. " Nis Iain, are' ise, bi calsinh,'s Поп do bbotuil ; cuimhnich gu bheil na coin dhubha air faibli an ceartair." Nuair a Поп e na butuil do 'n uiage as an tobar, faicear tigh beag Ihimh ris. Thuirt Iain ris foin gu'n rachadh e stigh, s gu 'm faiceadh e dé bh' ami, agus a cheud eebmar a dh' fhosgail e, cliunnaic e botull liin do dh-uisge beatlia, Гюп e gloinne as, 's dh' Ы e 'san uair a dh' 6l, thug e Buil, 's bha 'm botull cho liui sa bha e roimhe. " Bithidh 'm botull so agam combla ris na botuil uisge," ars' esan. Chaidh e 'n sin a stigh do sheomar eile, 'g cliunnaic e builionn ; thug e bllseag as, ach Ыш 'm builionn cho slhn sa bha e roimhe. " S' Dia cha 'n fhbg mi thus'," ars' Iain. Chaidh e air aghaidh mar so gus an d' ruin i i; eseb mar eile; chunnaic e mulachag mhbr chaise, thug e sliseag do 'n mhuUchaig, ach bba i cho slan sa bba i roiinhe.

BOEULACnD Ain IIATB-OBAHBAINN. I 7 3

* Bithidh so agam combla ri each," in' esan. Cbmidh • 'n so gu seomar elle, '• fmkear 'ns luiclhe an sin an t-aon ailleagan boirrionn- aieh bn bhbidcbe t rhunnaic e riamh. " Ilu niluir am bend gnn phhg broil a thoirt dhnit, a-ghaoil," an' Iain. Bogan 'na dheigh so, lenm lain air muin na h-iolnire 'a thug i e air achia cheum chendna, gns an d-rainig ¡ad tigh an fhamhair mhöir, 'i bha ¡ad a paidbeadh a mlmil do 'n famhair, agus 'a ann an sin a bha 'n sealladh air tualh- anaich, '• famhairran, 'a bi»dh, 's deoch. " We*l, Iain," ars' am famhair, "am fae tliu 'leithid so do dheoch ann an tigh t' athar an Eirinn."

* Puth I ars' Iain, ha 1 a laochain, a dhnine eile, tha deoch again» nach ionann." Thug e gloinne do 'n fhambair as a blmtnl, ach bba 'm botnl cbo làn 'sa bha e roimlic. " Hala, ars' am famhair, bheir mi fhcln da chend noU dhnit air son a' bhotail, srisn, agns dbllaid." " '8 bargain e mata," ars' Iain, "ach gn Team an cend leannan a bha >C«m«» fhaolainn ma thig I 'n rathad." " Gheibh i sin," an* am famhair, " ach gns an ageulachd fada a dheanamh goirid, dh' fhag < gach bailionn 's gach mulachag aig an da fhamhair eile, air a' chnmlmant chendna gn' faigheadh an cend leannan bha aige-san lad na 'n d* Uiigeadh 1 'n rathad. Ralnig Iain an so baile rnbr athar ann an Eirinn, 's faicear a dha bhrathair mar dh\fbag e lad 'nam blaig- rartan. " 'S feàrr dboibh tighinn dhachaidh leamsa,'illean," ars' esan, 's gheibh sibh deis' eudaich, 's each, 's dfollaid, 's srian am fear ; agna mur so rinn lad ; ach dar a bha iad dliith do thigh an athair, smaoin- ich a bhraithrean gum b'fheorr dhoibh a mbarbhadh,°agns 's e bh'ann к«п do thoiiich lad air,'s dar a shaoil leo e bhi marbh.thilg lad e alr cul gtrraidb, 's llii'g lad ualdh .na trl botnil uisge, Xdh'fhalbh iad dhachaidh. Cha robh Iain ro fhada an m, nnair a thainig an goblia aig athair an rathad le làn cairt do dh' ianinn meirgeach. Ghlaodb Iain a mich со air bilh an crioeduidh tha'n sin, OI e'dheanamh cobhair dhaian. Rug an gobha air, 's thilg e Iain am musg an iarninn, agus leis cho meirgeach 'sa bha 'n t-iarrann, chaidh e ann's gach lot 's crenchd a bh' «ir Iain, agus 's e ЫГ ann, gun do chinn Iain maol, carrach. Fagaidh sinn Iain an so, agns lillidh sinn ris an àillngan bhíridheach a dh'fhhg Iain 'san eilean oalne. Chinn 1 'n so trom, torrach,breac, ballach, 'san ccann tri raith- ean, bha mac bri-ngh gille aice. " U air sn t-sanghail mhhr," ars' i w, "cismar a fhuair mine so ?" "Foil I Foil I" ara' a' chailleach chearc,*na cuirrarih sin smaointesch ort; «o dhutt eun, agus со loath

* л chi e alhair do mhic, Itumaidh e air mnllach a chinn. Chaidh an t-ellean naine a chrninneachadh bho clieann gn ceann, 's an rlnagh a clinr a stigh air an doms chiiil 's amach air an doras Ihtml, ai-li cha do ghluais an t-eun, 's cha d' fhuairradh alhair an Wnibh. Thubh- aii t i 'n so "go fdbliadh i feadh an t-aaogliail gu leir, gus am (aigheadh

174 WE&T HIGHLAND TALK».

i atliair a leiniUi. Tlmlnlg i 'n во gu tigli an fhamliair mlibir," ign* iaiceur ambotul. "At! All dcir lie, со thug tlliuit am botul so?" Thuirt am famliair, " 'ae lain bg mac righ Eirinn a dh' fhag e." " Mata '» leamsa am botul," thuirt ¡se, ach gu an sgoulachd fad' a illieunanih goirid, thàinlg i gu tigh gach famhair, 'a thug i leatha gach botul 's gach builionn 'agach mulachag chaise: Gus ma dheir- eadh thall, thuinig i gu tigh rtgh Eirinn. Chaidh 'n so cuig cuig- eamh na h-Eirinn a chruiuneacliadh 's drochaid cheadan na maith. Chaidh an cur a atigh air an dorua chuil, 's a mach air an dorus bhebil, ach cha do ghluais an t-eun. " Dh' fhcbraich i 'n во, an robh a h-aon na h-aon idir eile ann an Eirinn nach robh 'n to?" "Tha gille maol, carrac'h anna a' cheardach agamia," thuirt an gobha ach ; * " Car air na dheth, cuir an to e, deir ise ; 'a cha bo luailhe a chunnaic an t-eun ceann a ghille mhaoil charraich na 'thug e iteag 's luiüliear air maol mhullaich a' ghille charrich. Rug I air 'a phbg i e." " 'S tusa atliair mo lelnibh." "Ach Iain," area rtgh mbr Eirinn," 'e tusa a fliuair na bot ml uiage dbbmhsa." " Ach gu dearbh 'a mi." ara1 Iain. " Will, mata, dé tha thu toileach a dhèaiiamh ri ЧГ dhiihis bhraithrean V " "A cheart rud a bha iadsan toileach a dhèanamh огтза, cur аз doibh ; " agua 'a e tin fein a rinneadh. Phbs Iain '> nighean rtgh an Ei lean Uaine, 's rinn lad bañáis mhbr ghreadhnach a mhair eeachd lathan 'a eeachd bliadhna 's cha chluinneadh tu ach lig, lig, 'a big, big, fuaim tail 'a tarruing pinne, br 'ga phronnadh bho bhonn an coise gu barr am rneoir fad eheaclid bliadhna 's sheachd lathan.

Written from the recitation of JOHN MAOUONALD, travelling tinker. Ho wanders all over the Highlands, and lives in a tent with his family. Ho can neither read nor write. He repeats юте of his otorieg by heart fluently, and almost in the вате word). I bavo followed hie recitation as closely as possible, but it was exceedingly difficult to keep Mm stationary for any length of time. HECTOR UIUJUIIART.

The tinker's comments I got from the transcriber. John himself is a character ; ho is about fifty years of age ; his falber, an old soldier, is alive and about eighty ; and there are numerous younger brnnchcs ; and they were all encamped under the root of л tree in a quarry close to Inverury, at Easter 1859.

The father tells many stories, but bis memory is failing. The son told mo several, and I have a good many of them written down. They both recite ; they do not simply tell the story, but act it witb changing voice and gesture, as if they took on interest

THE BROWK BKAR OF THE GRKEH OLKH. I ^ $

in it, and entered into the spirit sod fan of the tale. They belong to the nee of " Cairds," and are л* mach nomads ai the gipsit« are.

The father, to ом the son's expression, " петег aaw a achooL" He «erred in the 42d in hi» yonth. One son make* horn spoons, and does not know a «ingle story ; the other U a «porting character, a famous fisherman, who knows all the lochs and rirers in the Highland», makes flies, and earns money in summer by teaching Southerns to fufa. His ambition is to become an onderkeeper.

This bear story is like a great many others which I пате got elsewhere in the Highlands, bat I hare none told exactly b the same way. It aboold be mach longer, bat the wandering spirit of the man would not let him rest te dictate his story. They had to more to an outhouse and let him roam about amongst the shaTings, and swing his arms, before this much was got oat of him.

I Ьате foand the same restlessness amongst wanderers eke- where. I conld петег get Lapps to sit still for ten minute* when I tried to draw them ; and the air of a boose seemed to opprm them. I Ьате hitherto failed in catching an English tinker, whom I let slip one day in London, and to whom I promised good pay if he wooM come and dictate a (tory which he had told me. Then is a similar wandering population in Norway and Sweden. They own boats and carts, and pretend to magic arts ; and an feared and detested by householder* as wizards and Шетеа. It is said that these Norwegian wanderers hold a meeting on a huí near Christiania, овсе a year, and barter and sell, and exchange whateTer they may Ьате acqoired in their traTels. I Ьате heard a great deal aboot them from peasants. I Ьате seen them, bat тегу seldom in Norway. I one« met a party in the gloaming em a Swedish road, and a little girl, who waa following and driringa gentleman in a potting-cart, when she met them, flogged her horse and galloped for dear life.

There is a similar race in Spain, and though they are not all gipties. they are classed with them. The history of these wanderers would be corioni if it could be learned. Borrow'» Bible in Spain gires sorae intight, bat there is »till much to be known about tbem. " Ix>r, ion Laboar and the Poor," and reports oat •' Ragged Scbook," treat of similar people.

1 bis story msj be compared with Urimss's Water of Life.

ТПЕ TITREE SOLDIERS.

From James Macl.aclilan, servant, Islay.

f I ч TIERE was before a regiment in Dublin in -*- Erin, and it was going a long journey. There was a sergeant, a corporal, and a single soldier, who had sweethearts in the town. They went to seo them on the day that they were to go, and they stayed too long, and the regiment left them ; they followed it, and they were going and going till the night came on them. They saw a light a long way from them ; and if it was a long way from them, it was not long they were in reaching it. They went in, the floor was ready swept, and a fire on it, and no one in ; they sat at the lire toasting themselves ; they were not long there when the single soldier rose, to whom was the name of John, to look what was in the chamber, because there was a light in it There was there a board covered with every sort'of meut, and a lighted candle on it ; ho went up, he began to cat, and the rest began to hinder him, for that ho had no business with it When they saw that ho did not stop, they went up and they lx:gnn themselves. There wore three beds in the chamber, and one of them went to lie in each bed ; they had not laid long when three great red girls came in, and one of them stretched herself near each one of the beds ; and when they saw the time fitting

TEZ THRU SOLTEOS. 177

in the morning, they rose and went »war. When the girls roae, it ercld no4 be known that • bit had ever come off the board. They sat and they took their meat The sergeant said that they had better follow the regiment ; and John said that they should not fol- ( low it ; as long as be could get meat and rest that he would not со. When dinner time came they sat and they took their dinner. The sergeant said they had better go ; and John said that they should not go. When sapper time came they sat and they took their •upper ; after supping they went to lie down, each one to hie own bed. The girls came this night too, and went to lie down as before. In the morning when they saw the time fitting, they rose and they went away. When the lads rose the board was covered, and it could not be known that a bit had ever come off it They eat and they took their meat ; and when they took their meat, the sergeant said that they \cottld go at all events. John said that they should not go. They took their dinner and their supper aa they used ; they went to lie down ; the girls came and they lay down after them. In the morning the eldest gave the sergeant a purse, and every time he would unloose it, it would be full of gold and silver.

She said to the middle one, " What wilt thou give to thine 1 " "I will give him a towel, and every time he spreads it it will be full of every sort of meat" She gave the towel to the corporal ; and she said to the youngest, "What wilt thou give to thine own I" " I will give him a whistle, and every time ho plays it he will be in the very middle of the regiment" She gave him the whistle ; they left their blessing with them, and thty went away. " I wont let it rest here," said John ; " I will know who they are before I go further forward." He followed them, and he

178 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

saw them going down a glen ; and when ho was about to be down, they came to meet him, crying. " What is the matter with you Ч " says he. " Much is the matter with us," said they, " t hut we are under charms, till we find three lads who will spend three nights with us without putting a question to us ; and if thou hodst stayed without following us wo were freo." Is there any way that you can get freo hut that ? " said he. " There is," said they. "Thoro is a tree at tho ond of the house, and if you come at tho end of a day and year and pluck up the tree, we were free." John turned back where the rest were, and he told them how it happened to him ; and they gave this advice to each other that they should return back to Dublin again, because it was not worth their while to follow the regiment. They returned back to Dublin,

That night John said,—" I had better go to see the king's daughter to-nighi" "Thou had'st better etay in the house," said the rest, " than go there." " I will go there, at all events," says he. He went, and he reached the king's house ; he struck at the door, one of the gentlewomen asked him what he wanted ; and he said that he wished to be speaking to the king's daughter. The king's daughter came where he was, and she asked what business he had with her. " I will give thee a whistle," said he, " and when thou playest it thou wilt be in the middle of such a regiment." When she got tho whistle she drovo him down stairs, ond sho shut tho door on him. " How wont it with thoo ? " said they. " Sho wheedled tho whistle from mo," said he. Ho did not stop till he had beguiled a loan of the purse from the sergeant. " I had better," said he, "go to seo the king's daughter again." He went away and he

ТИК TI 111 EP, 801,1 Ч Ell В. 179

reached the house ; he saw the king's daughter ; ehe wheedled the purse from him, and drove him down stairs as she did before ; and he turned bock. He did not stop till he beguiled a loan of the towel from the corporal. He went again where the king's daughter was. " What wilt thou give me this journey I " said she. " A towel, and when it is opened it will be full of every sort of meat" " Let me see it," said sha " We will spread it out," said he. He spread it out, and there was a corner that would not lie right He said to her to stand on the corner ; she stood on it ; he stood himself on another corner, and he wished to be in the uttermost isle of the deep ; and himself and the king's daughter, and the towel, were in it in five minutes. There was the very prettiest island that man ever saw, and nothing in it but trees and fruits. . There they were, going through the island backwards and forwards, and sleep came on him. They came to a pretty little hollow, and he laid his head in her lap ; and he took a death grip of her apron, in order that she should not got away without his perceiving her. When he slept she loosed the apron ; she left him there ; she took the towel with hor ; she stood on it ; she wished herself to be in her father's house, and she was in it When he awoke he had nothing to get, he had * nothing to see but trees and birds ; he was then keeping himself alive with the fruits of the island, and hit upon apples ; and when he would eat one sort of them they would put a deer's head on him ; and when he would eat another sort of them, they would put it off him.

One day he gathered a great many of the apple*, and he put the one sort in the one end of the pock, and the other sort in the other end. He saw a vessel going past, he waved to her ; a boat came to shore,

I 80 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

and they took him on board. The captain took him down to meat, and he left the pock above. The sailors opened the pock to see what was in it ; when they saw that apples were in it, they began to eat them. They ate the sort that would put deers' horns on them, and they began fighting till they were like to break the vessel. When the captain hoard the row, he came up ; and when he saw them, he said, " Thou bad man, what host thou done to my men now 1" " What," said John, " made thy men so impudent that they would go and look into any man's pock Ï" " What wilt thou give me," said John, " if I leave them as they were before V The skipper took fright, and he said that he would give him the vessel and cargo at the first port they reached. Hero lie opened the pock, and ho gave them the other sort, and the horns fell off them. It was a cargo of gold was on the ship, and it was to Dublin she was going. When they arrived the captain said to him to be taking care of the vessel and cargo, that he was done with it " 13e patient," said John, " till we see how it goes with us at the end of a few days." He wont away on the morrow to sell the apples about the town with nothing on but torn clothes. He went up through the town, and he came opposite the king's house, and he saw the king's daughter with her head out of the window. She asked that a pound of the apples should be sent up to her. He said she should try how they would agree with her first. He threw up an apple to her of the sort that would put a deer's head on her ; when she ate the apple there came a deer's head and horns on her. The king sent forth word, that if any man whatsoever could be found, who would heal his daughter, that he should get a peck of gold, and a peck of silver, and herself to marry. She was thus many days, and

THE THREE 8OLDI ER& l8l

no man coming that could do any good at all John came to the door with the torn clothe«, asking to get in ; and when they saw hie like, they would not let him in ; but she had a little brother who saw them keeping him out, and he told it to his father ; and his father said, " Though it were the beggar of the green I" Word went after him that he should return, and he returned. The king said to him, " Could he heal his daughter Г and he said " that he would try it" They took him up to the chamber where she was. He sat, and he took a book out of his pocket, with nothing in it, pretending that he was reading it " Didst thou," said he, " wheedle a whistle from a poor soldier ; when he would play it, it would take him to the middle of the regiment I" " I wheedled," said sha " If that is not found," said he, " I cannot heal thee." " It is," says she. They brought the whistle to him. When he got the whistle he gave her a piece of apple, and one of the horns fell off her. " I can't," said he, " do more to-day, but I will come here to-morrow. Then he wont out, and his old comrades met him. The trade they had was to be slaking lime and drawing water for stone masons. He knew them, but they did " not know him ; he noticed nothing at all, but he gave them ten shillings, and he said to them, " Drink the health of the man who gave them." He left them there, and he returned to the ship. On the morrow ho went where the king's daughter was ; he took out the book, and he said to her, " Didst thou wheedle a purse from a poor soldier, that would be full of gold and silver every time it was opened Г' " I wheedled," said she. " If that is not found," said he, " I cannot heal thee." " It is," said she ; and they gave him the purse. When he got the purse he gave her a piece of the apple, and another horn fell off her. " I can do

I 8l WK8T HIGHLAND TALES.

no moro to-day," said he, " but I will come the next night" lie went where hie old comrades were, and he gave them other ten shillings, and he said to them, "To drink the health of the man who gave them." Then he returned to the vessel The captain said to him, " Was he going to take charge of the vessel now 1" Said he, " Catch patience till the end of a day or two, till we see how it goes with us." He returned the next night to see the king's daughter. He Rave a pull at the book as he used to do,—" Didst thou wheedle," said he, " a towel from a poor soldier, that would be full of every kind of meat every time it was undone Г " I wheedled," said she. " If that towel is not to be found, I cannot cure thee," says he. " It is," says she. They gnvo it to him ; as quick as he got it, ho gave her a whole apple ; and when she ate it sho was as she was before. Here he got a pock of gold and a peck of silver ; and they said to him that he would get herself to marry. " I will come to-morrow," said he. He went the way of his old comrades this time too ; he gave them ten shillings, and he said to them, " To drink the health of the man who gave them." Said they, " It would be pleasing to us to know what kind friend is giving us tho like of this every night" " Have you mind," said he, " when we were in such a place, and that we promised to the three girls that we would go there again a year from the time." Then they knew him. "That time has gone past long ago," said they. " It is not gone," enid he ; " next night is the night." He returned where the captain was ; he said to him that himself and his cargo might be off ; that he would not be troubling him ; that he had enough. On the morrow he went past the king's house, and the king's daughter said to him, " Art thou going to marry me to-day Î"

СВаОКТЛ» 183

" No, nor to-morrow," said he. He returned where the test were, and he began to set them in order for going where they promised. He gave the pane to the sergeant, the towel to the corporal, and the whistle he kept himself. He bought three horses, and they went riding with great haste to the place to which they had promised to go. When they reached the house they caught the tree, and it came with them at the first pull The three girls came so white and smiling where they were, and they were free from the spells. Every man of them took his own with him ; they came back to Dublin, and they married.

URSGEUL.

Вял roimbe ю rélaeamaid «on am Baileeliath an Eirinn, '• bha i 'folbh air toro fad«. Bha alirdeetn, corporal, aguí aaighdear rtn- fjiltf aig an robb leannaln ann« a* bhaile. Chaidh lad a'm faicinn an latha Mia lad ri folbh, 'a dh' fhen iad tuillidh is fada. '• dh' (bag an relaeamaid lad. Lean lad I '• Mia lad a' folbh '• a' folbh gu* an d' thahiig an oWhch« orra. Chonnaic lad aolua fada natha, '» ma b' filada uatha cha b' fhada bha ladaan 'ga rnigheachd. Chaidh lad a atigh. Bha 'n t-nrlar reldh, agnabte, '« gealbhan air, 'a gun daine (tlgh. Shaidh lad alg a' ghealbhan 'gan garadh. Cha b' fbada *bha iad martin nar a dh' elridh an aaighdear aingilte, d'am b'ainm Iain, a dh' amharc de "bha 'tan t-eeombar, a thaobh gnn robb solus ann. Bha 'n tin bord air a chhlrneachadh lets a' h-uile aeona bVlh, 'a coinntal laitt' air. Chaidh e апая ; tholaich e air ithradh ; '• thoisich each air a bbacail, o nach robb gnothach aige ría. Nur a chnnnaic lad nach do atad e, chaidh lad aoas, 'a thMaich iad Win. Bha tri leap- aichean anna an t-aebmbar, 'a chaidh fear dhiu laidhe anna gacb leaba.

Cha b' fhada a bha iad 'nan laidhe nnr a thainig tri nlgheanan mora 'raagha atigh, 'a aWn té аса 1 {fin aig brullhaobb gach t«' de na leapaichean, 'a nar a chunnaic iad an t-am iomchuidh aims a' mbaldinn dh' clridh lad, agua dh' fbolbh iad.

I 84 WBST HIGHLAND TALHa.

Nur t dh' elridli na SAtglidetran cha 'n tithnlchte gnn d' thainig mir Uiar a' bhuird riiiiuli. Shuldh 1x1, '» gbnbh ¡id am biadh. Thuirt an seirdsean gum b' fhearra dliaibh an réiaeamaid a leanUinn, 's tlmirt Iain nach leanadh. Fhkd 'aa gheibheadh e bhiadh 'na thamh nach folbhadh e. Nor a thainig an t-ara ilinnearach, shnidh lad 'a ghabh ¡ad an dinneir. Thuirt an §¿irdsean güín b' fhearra dlialbh folbh, 'a Ihuirt Iain nach folbhadh. Nur a thainig am aioparach, ahuldh iad 'a gbabh bul an liopair. An deigli an sioparach chaidh iad a laidhe, gach fear d'à leaba (Cm.

Thàiuig na nigheanan an oidhche so cuideachd, i chaldh té 'laidhe ar.ns a' h-uile leaba dhiu. Anna a' mhaidlnn, nur a chunnalc lad an t-am lomcbuidli, dh' eiriilh lad 'a dh' fbolbh lad.

Nur a dh' i-ii iilli nu gillean bha 'ni bord cuirnichte, 'a cha n aith- nlchte gun d' thaiuig mir riamh dheth. Shuldh iad 'a ghabh lad am biadh, 'a nur a ghabh lad am biadh tliuirt an neinlsean gum folbhadh iad codbiu. Thuirt Iain nach folbhadh. Ghabh lad an dinneir 'i an alopalr mur a b' abhalat. Chaidh lad a laidhe.

Thainig na nigheanan 'a laidh iad aa an dligh. Anna a' mbaidinn thug an tí 'bu abine aporan do 'n t-aelrdaean, 'a a* h-uile h-uaira dh' fbosgladh 1 e bhiodb e Ihn Mr la airgid. Ura' i ru an té mheadhon- aich, " De 'blieir thusa do t1 fhear fein?" " liheir mis« dha tuthailt, 'a a' h uile h-uuir a agaoileas e i bidli i làn de na h-uilu aebraa bïdh." Thug i 'n tuthailt do 'n chorporal, 'a thuirt l rla an ié b' bige, " Dé 'bbeir thuaa do t'fhear fein?" "Bheir ml dha ftdeag, 'a a'h-uila h-uair a aheinneaa e l bidh e 'n teis meadhoin na reueamaid." Thug i dha an fhldeag. Dh' fhag iad beannacbd acá 'a dh' fholbh iad.

" Cha leig mi lela an во e," un' Iain, " bidh fbioa 'am со iad ma 'n d' tlu(id ml na 'a faide air in' aghaidh." Lean e iad, 'a chunnaic e iad a' dol aloa le gleann, 'a nur a bha e thun a bhl alaoa thainig lad 'na cliolnneamh, 'a iad a' caolneadh. "De th' ..irl.liV" ur»' eaan. " 'S mor a th' oirnn," un' ladaan ; " tlia ainn fo gheaaan gua am fuigh sinn tri gillean a laidheaa lelnn tri oidchean gun cheiad a chur oimn, 'a nam fanadh thuaa gun ar lean tai un bha ainn ma agaoil." "Am Un il dbigh aam bith air am faigh aibh ma agaoil," ura' eaan, " ach ain ? " " Tha," ura' ladaan; " tha craobh aig ceann an tighe, 'a na'n d' thigeadh aibh, an ceann la U bliadhna, 'a a' chraobh ain a aplonadh bha ainne ma agaoil."

" Thill Iain air ala far an robh each ; dh' Ionia e dbaibh mar a thacbair dha; a chuir iad an comhairle r'a chiiile gun tilleadh iad air an aia do lihailecliath a rithiad, chionn nach h' fUiacli dhaibh an reiaeamaid a leanUinn. Thill iad do Bhailecliath air an ala. An oidhche ain un' Iain, " '8 fbearra dhomh dol a dh' ambare nighean

CBBGKUI» I 8 J

u rtgh noebd." * 'S (beam dboit bnUinn aig an tigh,* ana. each, " na del «ли." • ТЬЛа ml um codhin," ors' «an.

Dh* fbolbh e '• ninig • tigh an righ. Bbuail e aig an don». Dh' fhebraidh b-aon de na mnnatban ваШе d* ЪЬа dhlth air, Ч urairt e fon robh toil aigc "bbi liruidhinn ri nighean an righ. Thainig nighean an rich far in robh e, '• dh' fhebnieh i Ai 'n gnothoeh a ЫГ aige rithe. *Bheir ml dbnit f Wtag,* un' eaan, "'i nur a аЬешмш Iba I bidJi ihn arm an meadbon a leitbid к do rabcamaid.* N«r a fboair ÎM an fhVieag bhreab i leu an »Uighir e, '§ dbùinn i "n dorai air. " Demur chaidh dhait?" an' iadwn. " Mheall i "n fludeag uarn," on' etan. Cba do *tad e gm an do mbeall e eoingbeal) d« 'n iporan

0 'n t-*élrdiean. * "8 fbeàrra dhomh," on' «an, " dol a dh' fbaidnn nighean an righ'rithwd."

Dh' fholljh e 'i rainig e 'n tigh. Chonnaic e nigbean an righ ; mheall i 'n aperan oaidbe ; bhreab i leit an ttaighir e mar a rinn i roimhid ; '• thill e air ais. Cha do atad e gu» an do mheaU • coin- gbeall de 'o tntbailt o 'n chorporaL

Chaidh e 'rithùd far an robh nigbean an righ. • D« 'blicir t ha dbomh air an t-aiobhal м> ? " on' iae. " Tuthailt, '« nur a dh' fboag- lar I bidh i Ian de na Ь-uile иЪпа l.idh." " Leig fhaicinn domb V' an' ue. " Sgauilitih tin a mach I," on' etan. Sgaoii e mach i, 'a bh» oitean di nach laidbeadh ga ceart. Thnirt e rithe teasamh air an oitean. Sheas i air. Sheat e fifin air oiaean eile, 't ghnidh e hhi ann an eilean iomallach na doimhne. 'S bha e fein, i« nigbetn an righ, 'i an Inthailt ann ann an ebig mionaidean. Dba '»in an aon eilean a ba bboidhche a channaie daine riamh, 'l gon nl ann ach eraobban b meatan. Bha lad an sin a' folbh feadh an eilean alr an ait 't air an aghaidh, 's thainig an cadal airsan. Thalnig lad gu lagan böidbeacb, 't chah- еаап а cheann 'na Ь-nclidte, 's rinn • grélm baitair ab-apran,alralt 't nach fhaigbeidh i alr folbh gnn e mhoth- choinn dL Nur a ehaidil eaan db' fhuaagail iae an t-apran ; dh' fhaa;

1 'n tin e; thug è leatha an tuth»ilt; theat i urra; gholdh i ЬЫ *п tigh a h-athar ; 's bha I «nn.

Kur a dhiiitg etan rha robh nl ri fbaotalnn alge, 't cba robh nl ri fhaicinn alge, ach craobhan U eunlaith. Bha e 'n tin a' tlghinn bei» alr meatan an eilean, 'i dh' amalt nbhlan alr, *t nur a dh' Itheadh e aon «ebria dhiu chnlreadh lad ceann felüh air, 't nor a dh' llheadh • aeona elle dhlu cbulreadh lad delh e. Aon latha chruinnirh e moran de na h-uUilan, s chuir e 'n darna sebrta ann an aon cheann do 'n phoca, 's an »eiina elle ann» a' cheann eile. Chonnaic e toltheach a' dol teachaH ; chrath • rithe ; thainig bâta gu tir ; 't thug lad air bord e. Tbog an caibhlinn îlot • gu bi.dh, 's dh' fhag a 'm рос« gu

186 WEST HIGHLAND TALKS.

li-ard. Dh' fhoagain ne sebladairean am poca a dh' ambare de 'bh' ann. Nur a chunnaic ¡ad gur h-ubhlan a bh'ann thbiaich lad air an ilheadb. I Hi' ith lad an аебгаа 'chuireadh adhaircean féidh orra. Cbinn adhaircean ft'idli onn, 's thblsich lad air leum air a challe gua an robli lad a' brath an toitheach a bhrisdeadh. Nur a chuala an caibh- tini an stamm thainig e moa, a nur a chuunaic e lad thuirt e, " 'Dhroch dhuine di< tlia thu an de"ii;h a dheanadli air mo dhaoine nia ? " " De," un' Iain, " a chair do ilhaoine-sa clio mtamhail 'a gun rachadh iad a dh' fhaicinn de bhiodh ann am poca dulne aam bith ? Debbeir tho dhomh," ura' Iain, " ma dh' fhagaa ml lad mur a bha iad roimhid ?" Ghabh an agiobair eagal, 'a thuirt e gun d' thugadh e dha an saith- cach agus an luchd aig a' chiad phort a ruigeadh iad. Dh' ftiosgail e 'n lo am poca, 'a thug e dhaibh an aebra' eile, a thult na h-adhair- cean dlu. 'S e lacbd Ыг a' bh' air an t-aoltheacli, BRUS 's ann a Bhailecliath a bha i 'dol. Nur a rainig lad thuirt an caibhtinn ris, e 'blii 'gabhail ctiram de 'n t-aoitheach 'a de 'n luchd, gun robb esan nnclh is i, " Dean falghidinn," ur?' Iain, " gua am faic sinn d<5mur a thtfiil dulnn ann an ccann beagan Ihlthean.

Dh' fliollili о 'n la 'r na mhhircach a relc nan uhhlmi fcadh a' Uiaile, 'i gun air ach aodach arachdte. Chaldh • RUM feadh a* bhaile, 'a thainig e ma choinneamh tigh an righ, 'a chunnaic e nighean an righ 'a a ceann a mach air ulnnelg. Dh' larr i punnd de na h-ubhlan a chur auaa a 'h-ionnsuidh. Thuirt eaan i dh' fheachalnn demur a chbrdadh lad rithe an toiseach. Tbilg e 'auaa ubbal nrra de 'n t-aebraa 'chuireadh ceann ftTidh urra. Nur a dh' ith 1 *n ubhal thbinig ceann fi'iilh ia cabair urra. Chuir an nub uoa a mach nam faighte duine aam bith a Migharadh a nighean gum faigheadh e pele Ыг ia pele alrgld, 's I féin r'a póaadh. Bha 1 mur ain moran Ihitliean, 'a gun duine 'tighinn a bha dèanadh math aam bith. Thainig Iain gus an dorusd leia an aodach abrachdle 'g iarr- aidh a atigh, 'a nur a chunnaic iad a choalaa cha leigeadh iad a atigh e, ach bha brathuir beag aidae a chunnaic iad 'ga chumail a mach 's dh' innis e d'à athair e, 'a thuirt a h-athair ged a b' e bleidire «n loin a bhiodh ann a leigeil a atigh. Chaidh tíos as a dhelgh a 'thilleadh, agua thill e. Thuirt an righ ría an lelghseadh e 'nigliean, 'a thuirt e gum feuchadh e ris. Thug lad mina e do'n t-seonibar fa an robb i. Shuidh e, 'a thug e 'mach leobhar a a phóca a gun ni aam bith ann, a* leigeil air gun robh e 'ga 'leubhadh. " An do mheall thuaa," ura' eaan, "fiileag o-shaighdear bochd, nur a aheinneadh e i 'bheireadh e gu meadhon a rétseamaiJ." " Mheall," ura' iae. " ílar a' hlieil aln air faotalnn," ura' eaan, "cha 'n urrainn miae do lelgheaa." •' Tha," nra' iae. Thug iad a' ionnauidh an f hldeag. Nur a fhnair e

URSGEUL. 187

'n nudfaß thug « dlil ptoa de dh' ubhal, § tlinit fn.r de na cabair dlii "Cha 'n urrninn mi," ara* eean, " tuillidh a dhcanadh an diugh, ach thic; rai 'm mhin-nch."

Dh' fholbh e 'n sin a mach, '> thachair a aheana chompanaich air, '• e cheaird a bh' аса 'blii baacadh aoil, 's a' tamiinn nisge do chlacbairean. Dh' aithnich eean iadsan, ach cha d' althnich iadran esan. Cha do leig e rud «am bith air, ach thug e dhaibh deich taad- «in, 's thulrt e rio, " iilaibh deoch plainte an fbir a thng dhaibh e."

Dbealaich e 'n ein rio, 's thill e gns an t-aoitheach. An la V na mhaireach chaidh e far an robh nighean an righ. Thug e mach an leabhar, 'a thnirt e rithe, " An do mheall thuu sporan о shaighdear bochd a bhiodh Ian oír li airgid h-uile li-uair a dh'fhoagailt'e 7 * " M I,rail," an' ine. " Mar a' bhcil ain air faotninn," an' eun, " cha 'n Drrainn mise do lelgheaa." "Tha," urs' is», "'s thng lad dha'an sporan. Nur a fliualr e e thng e dhi plosa do 'n nbbal, 'a limit cabar elle dhi. Cha 'n nrrainn ml tuillidh à dhèanadh an diugh,' ига' eaan, " ach thig ml 'n ath oidhche."

Chaidh e far an robh 'shrana chompanaich, 's thng e dhaibh deich tasdaln eile, 's thuirt e riu deoch slbinte an fhir a thng dhaibh e Ы. Thill e 'n ain thun an t-aoithich. Thuirt an caibhtinn rls an robh • 'dot a ghabhail curam do 'n t-soitheach a nis. Thuirt eaan, " Glae faighidinn gn ceann laiha nn dha gna am faic sinn demur a tlic'itl diiinn." Thill e an alh oidhche a dh' fhaicinn nighran an rlgh. Thug e Urrninn air a Irobliar mar a b' abhalst dha. " An do mhcnll thtua," urs' csnn, " tutliallt о shnighdear bochd a bhiodh Ian de na h-ulle t*6r«a bldh a' h-uile h-uair a dh' fhosgailt i? " "Mhcnll," urs' ise. " Mar a' bheil an tnthailt «in air faoUinn cha 'n nrrainn mise do leighras," urs' essn. " Tha," nrs' ise. Thng iad dha i. Cho loath 's a flninir esan ithug e ubhal shlan dbi, 's nur a dh'ith i i bha I mar a bha i romihicl. Kliuair e 'n sin peic bir is pcic airgid, 's thuirt iad ris gam faigheadh e I Urn ri 'pbsadh. " Thig ml 'in nihir- eacb," ors' esan.

Ghabh e rathad a sheana chnmpanach air an t-siubhal и ruid- racbd ; thog e deich tssdain daibh ; 's thuirt e riu deoch slainta an fhir a thng dhaibh e Ы. Urs' iadsan, * Bn mhail leinn floa a bhi againn со an caraid caolinhneil a tha 'tolrt duinn a' leithld so a' h-uile h-oMhche?" "Am bheil cuimhn' agaibh," urs' esan, "nur a bha sinn 'na Irithid so do dh' aite, 's a pbenll sin do na tri nigheanan gun raehamaid ann blladhna o 'n am sin a rithisd?" Dh' aithnich lad an •in e. * Cbaidh an bine sin seachad o chionn fada," ors' iadaan. " Cha deachaldli," urs' «an ; "'a I an ath oidhche an oidhcht." Thill e lar an robh an caibhlinn, 'a thuirt e ría gum faodadh e lila 'a

I 88 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

» ludid а ЬЫ folbh, nach blodh eun a* cur dragb air, gun rnbb na leiiir »ige.

An la 'r na mhaireach cbaidli e acachad tigh »n rtgb, i thuirt nigbean an righ rig, "Am bheil tbu dot am' phosadh an diugh?" " Cha V eil na 'màireach," un' eaan. Thill e far an robb each, 'a thbUicb e air car an ordugh air «on dol far an do gbeall iad. Tbug e 'n sporan do 'n sdirdsean, an tutbailt do 'n cborporal, 'a ghlëidli • fi'ïn an fhldeag. Cheannaich e tri eich, 'a dh' fbolbh iad air mharcachd aun an cabbaig mhbir do.'u aite.au do gbeall iad dol. Nur a ràinig iad an tigh rug iad air a cbraoibb, 'a thainig i leo aira'chiad •plonadh. Thainig na tri nigheanan gu geai, gaireachdaeh far an robb iad, 'a bha iad aaor o na geaaan. Thug a' h-uile fear dhiu leia a the fiiiii, 'a thainig iad air an ala do Bhailecliatb, 'a phba lad.

Qot tliia tale from a young lad of the name of James M'Lach- lin, who is at present in my own employment. I bave had the preceding tale from him uleo. He baa had them from an old woman that lives somewhere up the way of Portaskaig, who, be gays, can repeat several more, and to whom 1 intend immediately to apply.

Hay 27, I860.— After speaking to the old woman MacKerrol, I find that, from age and loss of memory, she is unable now to tell any of the tales she was wont to repeat.

ПЕСТОВ

Another version of this has been sent by Mr. Osgood Mackenzie from Qairloch. It was recited by Нкотов MACKENZIE at Dibaig, who learned it some уеагя ago from KKNNKTII MACKENZIE at Dibaig; and it was written by ANUUS МлиКлЕ at Dibaig. This Dibaig version tells how —

1 . There was a soldier, by name Coinneach Buidhe, Kenneth the Yellow, in the army of old, and he belonged to Alba. He deserted, and his master sent a " corpaileir" after him ; bnt the corporal deserted too ; and so did a third. They went on till they reached the "yearly wood,1' in America. After a time, they saw on a certain night, a light which led them to a large house ; they found meat and drink, and all that they could desire. They saw no one for a year and a day, except three maidens, who

THE THREE SOLDIERS. 189

never »poke, bat called in at odd time« ; and н they did not ' speak, the soldiers were silent.

At the end of the year the maidens spoke, and praised them for their politeness, explained that the; were under spells, and for their kindness, gave to the first a cup that would be ever full, and a lamp of light ; to the second, a table-cover on which meat was ever ; and to the third, a bed in which there would ever be rest for them at any time they chose ; and besides, the " TIADII- LAicBAR '' would make any one who bad them get anything he wished. They reached a certain king, whose only daughter pretended to be fond of Kenneth the Yellow, and wheedled him till he gave her the TIADIILAICEAN, when she ordered him to be put in an island in the ocean. When there alone he grew hungry, and ate " abhlan," and a wood like thatch grew through his head, and there remained till he ate " ЛВШ.АЯ" of another kind, when the wood vanished. He gut off in a ship with " ARIILAK'' of each sort, and reached the big town of the king where he bad been before, where he set up a booth. On a certain day a fair lad came in to sell ADULAN, and through him the other kind were sold to the king's daughter, and a wood grew on her head. Kenneth the Yellow got back the TIADHLAICEAC, and fonnd his two com-

panions ADDS ВПА IAD OIL« TDILLEADH ANN AH MEAS AOD8

RoiRBiir АГПАПМ ous A onxiocn. And they were all after in worship and prospérenme** till the end.

This ii manifestly the same story shortened, and made reasonable. It is very well written, and spelt according to rule.

3. I have another version of this told by Hector Boyd, fisherman, Castle Bay, Barra, who says he learned it from John Mac- Neill, who has left the island ; and from Neill MacKinnon, Bnagh Liai. In this the three soldiers are English, Scotch, and Irish. The two last desert ; and the first, a sergeant, is sent after them. They persuade him to desert also, and they come to a castle. The Irishman acts the part of John in the Islay version ; and the first night they eat and go to sleep, and find dresses when they wake. In the morning they get up and put on their dresses ; and the board was s«t over with meat and with drink, and they took their TRATH MADAIH, breakfast. They went

190 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

to take a walk without. The Englishman had a gun, and lie saw three swans swimming on a loch, and he began to put a charge in his gun. The swans perceived him, and they cried to him, and they were sure he was going to shoot at them. They came on shore and became three women. " How are these dresses pleasing you ?" said they. " The like will be yours every day in the year, and your meat as good as you got ; but that yon should neither think or order ono of us to be with you in lying down or rising up." And so they remained for a year in the castle. One night the Irishman thought of tho swuus, and in the morning they had nothing but their old dresses.

They went tu the loch ; the swans came on shore, became women, and gave a purse that would always be full of gold and jewels, to the Englishman ; a knife to the Scotchman, and whenever it was opened he would be wherever he wished ; and to the Irishman a bom, and when he blew in the small end there would be a thousand soldiers before him ; and when he blew ¡a the big end none of them would be Been.

They go to a big town, and build a house on a green hill with money from the purse ; and when the house was built, one about went to the town to buy meat. The Irishman fell in love with the king's daughter, and was cheated out of his magic horn ; borrowed the purse, and lost that ; and then, by the help of the knife, transported himself and the king's daughter to an island which could hardly be seen in the far ocean. And there they were, and there they stayed for seventeen days, eating fruits. One day he slept with his head on her knee, and she looked at her hands and saw how long tho nails hiid grown ; so she put her hand in his pocket and took out the knife to pare them. " Oh," said she, " that I were where the nails grew on me," and she was in her father's house. Then he found red apples and grey apples ; and no sooner had he eaten some of the red apples than his hctad waa down, and his heels were up, from tho weight of the deer's horns that grow on his head. Then he bethought him that one of tho grey apples might heal him ; and ho stretched himself out with his bead downwards, and kicked down one of the apples with his feet, and ate it, and the horns fell off him. Then he made baskets, and filled them with the apples ; climbed a tree, saw a ship, tore his shirt and waved it on a stick, and was seen.

THE THREE SOLDIERS. 1 9 I

The skipper was under an oath that be would never leave a man in extremity. They came on shore for him, and теге ter- rifi.-d at his beard, thinking that he was the evil spirit. When he got on boaid, a razor was got, and (us the narrator said) SBEUBR- Airi в be was shared. The ship sailed straight to the king's house. The lady looked out of я window. He sold her a red apple for a guinea. She ate it, the horns grew, and there were not alive those who could take her from that. They thought of saws, and the; sent for doctors ; and he came, and then there is a scene in which he pretends to read a divining book, and tries saws on the horns, and frightens the lady and recovers the lost gifts. Then he went to his friends, and they went to the swans ; and the spells went off them, and they married them.

The story is very well told, especially the last scene ; but it is too like the Islay version to make it worth translating at full

4. I have another story, from a Ross-shire man, now in Glasgow, which begins in the same manner, but the incidents are very different.

This story has a counterpart in German, Der Krautesel ; and it has a very long pedigree in Grimm's third volume. It seems to be very widely spread, and very old, and to belong to many languages ; many versions are given. In one a soldier, one of three, eats apples in a forest, and his nose grows right through the forest, and sixty nri'ns beyond it; and the king's daughter's nose is made to grow," tactly as horns are made to grow on the princess in the Highundj ; and she is forced to give up the things which she had got from the soldiers ; and which are a purse, a mantle, and a horn of magic power.

In another version, it is a young huntsman who changes a witch and her daughter into donkey*, by giving them magic cabbages, which had previously transformed him.

The swans in the third version seem to belong to Sanscrit, as weO as to Norse and other languages. In " Comparative Mytho- )°87i'' by Max Müller, Oxford Essays, 1856, a story is given from the Brahmana of the Yagurveda, in which this passage occur«—" Then he bewailed his vanished love in bitter grief; and went near Knrnkihetra. There U a lake there called Anyatah-

192 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

plaksha, full of lotus flower« ; and while the king walked along its border, tin; fnirioi were playing there in the water in the shape of birds ; and Urvuei discovered him, and laid, ' That it the man with whom I dwelt su long.' Then her friends said, ' Let us appear to him,' " etc., etc.

The rest of the Eastern story has many Western counterparts, such as " Puter WilkiiiH and the Flying Г/udiee," and a story which I have from Islay. The incident of birds which turn out to be enchanted women, occurs in a great many other Gaelic stories ; and is in Mr. Peter Duchan's " Qreeu Sleeves '* (see introduction) ; and, as I am told, in the Edda.

К \ii.Ki-i.i ITU is Dublin, and takes its Gaelic name from a legend. The пяте should be Baile ath Cliath, the town of Wattle Ford ; either from wattled bouts, or я bridge of hurdles ; and as it appears, there was a weaver, or tailor, residing at Ath Cliath, Wattle Ford, who got his living by making creels or hurdles, CI.IATIIAN, for crossing the river. There was a fluent, gabby old man, who was a friend of his ; and from bis having euch a tongue, the maker of the creels advised him to become a beggar, as he was sure to succeed. He began, and got plenty of money. He wore a cap or currachd, and all the coin he got he buried under a «tone, at the end of the wattle bridge. The bridge maker died ; the beggar got ill and kept his cap on, aud never took it off; and when he was dying he asked bis wife to bury him in it ; and be was buried with his cap on. The widow's son found out about the buried treasure, and dug it up ; but the beggar's ghost so tormented the boy, that he had to go to the minister, who advised them to build a bridge with the money ; to tlu-y built DIIOCIIAIU ATI! CLIATH, and there it is to this very day.

I do not know which of the Dublin bridges is meant, but the story was got from a woman at Kilnieny in Islay, and this is a mere outline of it. It is known as the story of the red-haired beggar, Am Bochd Rnagh.

Uailecliath is a groat place in Qaelio songs.

The story of the Three Soldiers is one of which I remember to have heard a part in my childhood. I perfectly remember contriving with a companion how we would have given the cruel princess bits of different kinds of apples, mixed together, so as to make the horns grow, and fall off time about ; but I cannot re-

THE THREE SOLDIERS. I 93

member «bo told me the story. The version I have given is the most complete, but the language of the Barra version i* better.

There are one or two inconsistencies. They travel on the towel which had the commissariat, and do not use the locomotive whistle at all. But there are touches of nature. The mason's labourers thought the time had passed, but the adventurer did not find time so long ; and he alone remembered the day.

XI. THE STORY OF THE WHITE PET.

From Mra. MacTiviih, widow of the late miaiiter of Kildalton, May.

r I THERE was a farmer before now who had a Wbite -*- Pet (sheep), and when Christmas was drawing near, he thought that he would kill the White Pet The White Pet hoard that, and he thought he would ran away ; and that is what he did.

He had not gone far when a hull met him. Said the hull to him, " All hail ! White Pet, where art thou going?" "I," said the White Pet, "am going to seek my fortune ; they were going to kill me for Christmas, and I thought I had better run away." "It is better for me," said the bull, "to go with thee, for they were going to do the very same with me."

" I am willing," said the White Pet ; " the larger the party the better the fun."

They went forward till they fell in with a dog.

" All hail ! White Pet," said the dog. " All hail ! thou dog." " Where art thou going Í" said the dog.

" I ¡mi running away, for I heard that they were threatening to kill me for Christmas."

" They were going to do the very same to me," said the dog, " and I will go with you." " Come, then," said the White Pet

They went then, till a cat joined them. " All hail ! White Pet," said the cat " All hail ! oh cat"

TUE STOBT or TBK WHITE PET. 195

" Where art thon going Г said the cat " I ani going to seek my fortune," said the White Pet, " because they trere going to kill me at Christmas."

" They were talking about killing me too," said the cat, " and I had better go with you."

" Come on then," eaid the White Pet

Then they went forward till a cock met them. " All hail ! White Pet," said the cock." "AU hail to thyself I oh cock," eaid the White Pet "Where," said the cock, "art thou going Г "I," said the White Pet, " am going (away), for they were threatening my death at Christmas."

"They were going to kill me at the тегу same time," said the cock, " and I will go with you."

" Come, then," said the White Pet

They went forward till they fell in with a goose. " All hail ! White Pet," said the goose. " All hail to thyself! oh goose," said the White Pet "Where art thon going f ' said the goose.

" I," said the White Pet, " am running away because they were going to kill me at Christmas."

" They were going to do that to me too," said the goose, " and I will go with you."

The party went forward till the night was drawing on them, and they saw a little light lar away ; and though far off, they were not long getting there. When they reached the house, they said to each other that they would look in at the window to see who was in the house, and they saw thieves counting money ; and the White Pet said, " Let erery one of us call his own call I will call my own call ; and let the bull call his own call ; let the dog call his own call ; and the cat her own call ; and the cock his own call ; and the goose his own call" With that they out one shout—GAIM 1

196 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

When the thieves heard the shouting that was without, they thought the mischief was there ; and they fled out, and they went to a wood that was near them. When the White Pet and hie company saw that the house was empty, they went in and they got the money that the thieves had been counting, and they divided it amongst themselves ; and then they thought that they would settle to rest Said the White Pet, " Where wilt thou sleep to-night, oh bull Г " I will sleep," said the bull, " behind the door where I used " (to bo). "Where wilt thou sleep thyself, White Pet ?" " I will sleep," said the White Pet, " in the middle of the floor where I used " (to be). " Where wilt thou sleep, oh dog 1" said the White Pet " I will sloop beside the firo whore I used " (to ho), said the dog. "Where wilt thou sleep, oh cat?" "I will sleep," said the cat, "in the candle press, where I like to be." " Where wilt thou sleep, oh cock ?" said the White Pet " I," said the cock, "will sleep on the rafters where I used " (to be). " Where wilt thou sleep, oh goose ?" " I will sleep," said the goose, " on the midden, where I was accustomed to be."

They were not long settled to rest, when one of the thieves returned to look in to see if he could perceive if any one at all was in the house. All things were still, and he went on forward to the candle press for a candle, that he might kindle to make him a light ; but when he put his hand in the box the cat thrust her claws into his hand, but he took a candle with him, and he tried to light it Then the dog got «p, and ho stuck his tail into a pot of water that was beside the fire ; he shook his tail and put out the candle. Then tho thief thought that the mischief was in the house, and he fled ; but when he was passing the White Pet, he gave him a blow ; before he got

тнк втовт OP THE WHITE PKT. 197

past the bull, he gave him a kick ; and the cock began to crow ; and when he went out, the goose began to belabour him with his wings about the shanks.

He went to the wood where his comrades were, ae fast as was in his legs. They asked him how it had gone with him. " It went," said he, " but middling ; when I went to the candle press, there was a man in it who thrust ten knives into my hand ; and when I went to the fireside to light the candle, there was A big black man lying there, who was sprinkling water on it to put it out ; and when I tried to go out, there was a big man in the middle of the floor, who gave me a shove ; and another man behind the door who pushed me out ; and there was a little brat on the loft calling

OUt CulB-A-NKES-AN-8HAW-AT-8-FONI-MI-HATN-DA Send

him up here and I'll do for him ; and there was a GRKK-AS-ICH-E, shoemaker, out on the midden, belabouring me about the shanks with his apron."

When the thieves heard that, they did not return to seek their lot of money ; and the White Pet and his comrades got it to themselves ; and it kept them peaceably as long as they lived.

SOEULACHD A 1MIEATA BHAIN.

Вил Tu*th«Mch «nn rolmhe so »lg «n robb Pealaban; «gol'n noir a Mi» «n NoIUig a' teannatlh «¡r •moiintich e gu 'inarbh«bh e 'm P*ai» ban. Cliualt am Peut* ban lin «gol omunintich • pun Uleh*dh «, «gut 'и «In t rinn «. Ch« deachtldh • fula 'n ualr « thach- ы r Tirbh atr. Thubhalrt 'n tarbh rii, " Fallt« dhnitoe a' pheata bhain ; e It« am bheil tbtua a' dol ? " " Tha ml," an' am peala ban, " a' falbb a dh' iarridh an fhortam, bha iad a' dol a m' mharbhadh a dh' ionnnüdh na Xollaig ago* imnalnüch mi gam V Лмагт domh tekheidh." " S' fearr dommhaa an' 'n Tarbh falbh leat : oir bha iad a' dol a dhlanadb я leithid die omua." * Tha mi toileach," an' 'm Peata ban ; nur и mí> a' cbaldeaclMl 'aano U fhearr 'n lan-aldhir." Ghibh ltd alr 'n aghaMh pu ш do Uiacliuir Ch orra. " Fallt« dhuit t Pheata bhain," an' 'n

KjS WKST HIGHLAND TALES.

On, "Faille dhuit fluT Vhoin." "Caite 'm bhcil Ihn »' del?* an' m Cu. " Tlia mi aig leicheadh Llio 'n a chuala mi gun robh lad a' brath mo mharbhabh air ton na Nollai^." Blia ¡ad a' dol a dhianadh a lellliiil cbeudna ormsa," an' an Co, "agus falbhaidh ml leibh." " Thi);," maU ara* am peata ban? Db' fhalbh lad an «in gna an do chomhlaich Cat lad ?" Faut« dhuit a pheaU bhain an' 'n cat. Fällte dhuit Ihf a Chaït." " Caite am bbeil tbu a' dol?" an' an Cat. " Tha mi a' dol a dh' iarridh an fhortain," an' am Peat» Ban, " a chiunn gu'n robh lad a* dol am* mharbhadh air 'n Nollaig." " Bha lad aig iomradh air mise mharbhadh culdeachd," an n Cat, " a*nu 'a féarr dhommh falbb lelbh, Tbuguinn mata ? " ara' 'm peala bbn. Ghabh lad an ein air an aghaidh gua an do choinnich Coileach iad. " Faille dhuit a pheata bliáin," ara' an Coileach. " Fällte dhuit flu-',' ara'am Feata Dan. "Cuite," ara' un Coileach, "am bheil thu a dol ?" " Tha mi," an' am pcata ban, " a' falbh' о 'n a bha ¡ad a möidheadh mo mharbabh aig an Nollaig." " Bha iad a' dol am' mharbhabh-w alg an am chemina," an' an Coileach, " agus theid mi leibh." " Thig nula," an* am 1 Valu Ban. Ghubh iad air an açhaidh gui an do thachair giadh orra. " Faille dhuit a pbeata bhain," an' an gèadh. " Faute dhuit fhtT a gheoidh," an' am Peau Ban. " Caite am bbeil thu a dol ? " an' an gèadh. " Tha mise," ara' am peala ban, " a' teichadh, a chionn gu 'n robh iad a dol am' mharbbadh aig an Nollalg." " Bha iad a dol a' dhèanadh ein огтза cuidcacbd," an' an Gèadh, " agu« falbhaidh mi leibh." Ghabh a' chnldeachd air an aghaidh gus an robb an oidbche 'teannadh orra, aguí Fchunnaic lad aolui beag fada bhuatha • ge b' fhuda bbuatha cha bh' fliada 'ga rulgheachd. An ualr a ralnig iad an ilgh, ihubbairt iad ri 'cbeile gun amhairceadh lad a stigh air an uinneag a dh' flialcinn со a bha anna an tigh; agus chunuaic iad meairlich a'cunn- toa airgid; agus thubhairt am l'cat« Ban. "Glaoldhidh ni uilo aim aguinn a ghlaodh fdin; «'aiwlhidh mite mo glilaoidh fein; agua Klaoidhiilli an Tarbb a ghlaodli fein ; glaoidliidh an Ch à ghlaodh fein ; aguí an Cat a glaodh fein; uiçus au Coileach a ghlaodh fein ; agua an gèadh a ghlaodh fein." Leia «in thug ¡ad aon gbàir asda. An uair a chuala na meairlich a' ghàir a bha muidh fbaoil iad gun nilih an donas ann, agua theich iad amach, agus dh' falbh iad d» choille a bha dlùth daibb. An uair a chunnaic am Peata Поп agus a chuidoachd gun robh и tigh fulamli 'cliuidh lud a stigh, agus fhuuir iad an t-airgid a bba aig lia meairlich 'ga chuimla», agua roinn lail (atorra fein e. An sin •miiülntich iad gun gabliadh iad mu tbamh. Thubhairt am Peala Han, " Caite an caidil thus' an nochd a Thoirhh." " Caidlidh mise," ais' au tarbb, " chl an doruis far an ibhaist dommb."

80EULACHD А ГПК AT A BHAIN. 199

" C«it- an caidil thu fein a pheata bhhin ? " " Caidlidh mise," ara' ara Peata I Ihn am meadhan an ulair far an abhaist domo." " Caite an eaidil thai' a choin 7" art' am Peata Ban. " Gaidlidh min taobb an teine far an abhaut dommh," an' an Cu, " Caite an eaidil thus' a cluit ?" " Caidlidh mis'," an' an Cot, " ann am preass nan Coinn- lean far an toil loam a bhiih." " Caite an eaidil thus' a choilich ? " an* am Peata Him. "Caidlidh mue," an* an Coileach, "air an span far an abhaist donah." "Caite an Caidil thus a gheoidhT " Caidlidh mue," an* an gèadh air an dhnan far an robh mi cleachte rl bhith." Cha robh ¡ad fada air gabhail mu tbamh an nair a thill fear do na meairlich a dh' ambare a stigh feuch am moicheadh e an robh aon la' bith 'san tigh. lili.i na nlle samhach agns dhealluith e air aghaidhga prean nan coinnlean nirton eoinneal a I i«n<lh. e dheanadh soláis da, arh an unir a choir e lemh >i bhocia shhbh 'n cat \nean na laimb, ach tbag e lei« a' choinneal agus dh' fbeuch e ri 'lasadh. An sin dh' eirich an cu agns chuir e earball ann am poit nuge bba aig taobh an teine ; chrath e earball agus chair e а> а choinneal. Shaoil am Meair- leach an sin gn robh an donas 'san tiuli ago« theich e ; ach an nair a bha e dol »tachad air a' pheata bhan thug e baille dha ; man d' fhaar e seachad air an tarbh thog e breab dba ; ague thbisich an coileach air glaoidhich ; agus an uair a cbaidh e mach thbisich an gèadh air a ghreadadh le 'sgiathan mu na luirgnean. Cbaidb e don Cboillidh far an robh a cbompanicli со luath 'aa bha 'na chasan dh' fhebraich iad dheth cia mar chaidh dha. " Cha deachaldh," an' esan, " ach meadb- onach an nair a chaidh mi go preass nan coinnlean bha fear ann a shath deich sgeanan ann a' m' laimh, agns an uair a chaidh mi gu taobh an teine a buadh na eoinneal bba fear mor, dnbh 'na luidhe ann a bha apreadadh oisge nrra 'ga cuir as, agus an uair a thng mi lamb air do' amach bha fexr mor am meadhan an urlair a thug ntag domh, agas fear eil' aig clil an dorais a phut amach mi, agus bha ablach txag air an fharadh aig glaoidhich amach, " cuir m niai m to e '» fntjhnatdh mi /Ал'п dhn ауш bha Griaaaich amach air an diinan 'gam ghreadadh mu na casan le apran. A nnalr a choal na meairlich sin cha do phill iad a dh' inrridh an cuid airgid, agus t-fhuair am peata ban aguí a chompanaich dhalbh fein e, agus cbum e tocair iad am feadb 'sa bha lad beo.

Mrs. MacTnvish got this story from a yonng girl in her •errioe, November 1859, who learned it in Ол, a district of Islay, last year, when she was employed in herding cattle.

It Is a Tersion of the lame tale aa Qrimm's " Bremer Stadt Musikanten," which appears to hare been long known in Qer. many in Tarions shapes.

200 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

The crowing of the cock is imitated in Queue and in German. The Gaelio is closer. "Bringt mir den Schelm her" U not ao cloae to " kikeriki " u the Gaelio wurde—which I have tried to spell phonetically—are to the note of a cock. There ii a bull in the Gaelio tale, instead of an au ; and a sheep and a goose, in addition to the dog, cat, and cock, which are common to both. There are six creatures in the one tale, commonly found about the Highland cottage, which ii well described ; fonr in the other, commun about German cottages. My own opinion ii, that the tale ¡8 common to both languages and old, but it might hare been borrowed from a book но well known in England as Grimm's Stories are. It isi worth remark, that the dog and the cat were to die at Christmas, as well ан the sheep and bull, who might reasonably fear to be eaten anywhere, and who bare been sacrificed everywhere ; the gooeo, who is always a Christmas dish in the Highlands ; and the cock, who should die lut of his family, because the toughest. The dog was once sacrificed to Hecate on the 80th of every month ; and there was a dog divinity in Egypt. CaU drew the car of Fraya, a Norse divinity ; they were the companions of Scotch witches, and did wondrous feats in the Highlands. See " Grant Stewart's Highland Superstitions. To roast a cat alive on a spit waa a method of raising the fiend and gaining treasure, tried, ae it is asserted, not very long ago. I myself remember to have heard, with horror, of a cruel boy, who roasted his mother's cat in an iron pot on a Sunday, while the rest were at church, though it was not said why he did it. A cock has been a sacrifice and sacred amongst many nations ; for instance, a cock and a ram's head were emblems of /Kuculupiua. The crowing of a cock is a terror to all supernatural, unholy beings, according to popular mythology everywhere. When the mother, in these stories, sends her children into the world to seek their fortune, she bakes a cake, and kills a cock. A fowl, as I am informed by a minister in one of the Orkneys, is still, or was lately, buried alive by nurses as a euro for certain childish ailment«. In short, the dog, the cat, and the cock may possibly have had good reason to fear death at a religious festival, if this part of their history came from the East with the Celts. The goose also has been sacred time out of mind. Bernacle geese are supposed to be hutched from a sea- shell. The gooso was the great cackler who laid the egg of the

THE STOBT OF THE WHITE PET. 2ОГ

world, according to Egyptian inscriptions on coffins. He was the emblem of Seb ; he ia ucred at the present day in Ceylon. He was sacred in Qreece and at Rome ; and the Britons would not eat his flesh in the days of Cesar. Perhaps the custom of eating a goose at Christmas, which, to the best of my knowledge, is peculiar to the Scotch Highlands, may be a custom begun by the first British Christians to mark their conversion, and earned on етег since. Mach will bo found on this subject in " Rawlin- son's Herodotus," p. 122, etc. ; in " Mills and Wilson's History of British India ;" and in books on Ceylon. At all events, this Gaelic story is well known in I slay, for MacLean writes that he has often beard it, and all the creatures mentioned in it have bad to do with mythology at some period somewhere.

I suspect that it is one of the class given in " Contes et Apologues Indiens'' (Paris, I860), a class which includes .such well known stories as " The Ooote with Me golden Egg*," as a man who cut down a tree to get at the fruit (No. 45) ; " Tht Belly and the Member*," as a quarrel between the head and tail of a serpent (No. 40), a story which somewhat resembles that which is quoted in the introduction, as " MacLeod1* Fool,'' " Le Sage et le Fon '' (No. 18) ; " The two Geese that carried a Tortoise " (No. 14) ; " Le Jeune Bramane qui c' est sali le Doight " (No. 64), which is a schoolboy story in Scotland in another shape ; " Ilia Ass in the Lion's Skin" (No. 69) ; " Les Choses impossibles et les Reliques da Bouddha" (No. 110), which has a parallel in Gaelic, in broad Scotch, and in Norse. The Gaelic poet describes impossibilities, such as a shell-fish bringing heather from the hill, and the climax is a certain great laird dressed in homespun. The Scotch rhyme came to me from a little boy of five years old, and is called " The Mantle Joe." It begins " 'Twas on a Monday Mornin' when the Cat crew Day :'' There are " Twenty-four Weavers riding on a Paddock ;" " A Hare and a Haddie racin' own* the Lea," and such like ; and it ends, " Frae Beginning to the End it's a' big Lees." The Norse song was written out fnr me by an officer on board a steamer, and includes " Two Squirrels taming a Bear," and other such events ; and the Sanscrit, which Chinese and French savants have translated, names similar absurd events which might sooner happen than the discovery of the reliques of Buddha. In short, European stories are to be traced in the east, and this White Pet may be one of the kind.

XII. THE DAUGHTER OF THE SKIES.

From James MacLaucbUn, servant, Isluy.

ГТЩЕКЕ was there before now a farmer, and he had ' a leaah of daughters, and much cattle and sheep. He went on a day to see them, and none of them were to be found ; and ho took the length of the day to search for them. He saw, in the lateness, coming home, a little doggy running about a park.

The doggy came where he was—" What wilt thou give me," said he, " if I get thy lot of cattle and sheep for thee f ' " I don't know myself, thou ugly thing ; what wilt thou be asking, and I will give it to thee of anything I have Î" " Wilt thou give me," said the doggy, " thy big daughter to marry Ï" " I will give her to thee," said he, " if she will take thee herself."

They went home, himself and the doggy. Her father said to the eldest daughter, " Would she take him '(" and she said she would not He said to the second one, " Would she marry him 1" and she said, " she would not marry him, though the cattle should not bo got for over." He said to the youngest ouo, " Would ehe marry him 1" and she said, " that she would marry him." They married, and her sisters were mocking her because she had married him.

He took her with him home to his own place.

THE DAUGHTER OF THE SKIES. 203

When he come to his own dwelling-place, he grew into a splendid man. They were together a great time, and she said she had better go see her father. He said to her to take care that she should not stay till she should have children, for then she expected one. She said she would not stay. Ho gave her a stood, and he told her as soon as she reached the house, to take the bridle from her head and let her away ; and when she wished to come home, that she had but to shake the bridle, and that the steed would come, and that she would put her head into it

She did as he asked her ; she was not long at her father's house when she fell ill, and a child was born. That night men were together at the fire to watch. There came the тегу prettiest music that ever was heard about the town ; and every one within slept but she. Ho came in and he took the child from her. Ho took himself out, and ho went away. Tlie music stopped, and each one awoke ; and there was no knowing to what side the child had gone

She did not tell anything, but so soon as she rose she took with her the bridle, and she shook it, and the steed came, and she put her head into it. She took herself off riding, and the steed took to going home ; and the swift March wind that would be before her, she would catch ; and the swift March wind that would be after her, could not catch her.

She arrived. " Thou ore come," said he. " I came," said she. He noticed nothing to her ; and no more did she notice anything to him. Near to the end of three quarters again she said, " I had better go see my father." He said to her on this journey as ho liad paid before. She took with her the steed, and she went away ; and when she arrived she took the bridle from the steed's head, and she set her home.

204 VEST HIGHLAND TALES.

That тегу night a child was born. He came as he did before, with music ; every one slept, and he took with him the child. When the music stopped they all awoke. Her father was before her face, saying to her that she must tell what was the reason of the matter. She would not tell anything. When she grew well, and when she rose, she took with her the bridle, she shook it, and the steed came and put her head into it. She took herself away home. When she arrived he said, " Thou art come." " I came," said she. He noticed nothing to her ; no more did she notice anything to him. Again at the end of three quarters, she said, " I had better go to see my father." " Do," said he, " but take care thou dost not as thou didst on the other two journeys." " I will not," said she. He gave her tho steed and she went away. She reached her father's house, and that very night a child was born. Tim music came as was usual, and the child was taken away. Then her father was before her face ; and he was going to kill her, if she would not tell what was happening to the children ; or what sort of man she had. With the fright he gave her, she told it to him. When she grew well she took the bridle with her to a hill that was opposite to her, and she began shaking the bridle, to try if the steed would come, or if she would put her head into it ; and though she were shaking still, the steed would not come. When she saw that she was not coming, she went out on foot. When she arrived, no one was within but the crone that was his mother. " Thou art without a houseman to-day," said the crone ; " and if thou art quick thou wilt catch him yet." She went away, and she was going till the night came on her. She saw thon a light a long way from her; and if it was a long way from her, she was not long in reach-

THE DAÜOHTKH OF THE 8KIE& 205

ing it When she went in, the floor was ready swept before her, and the housewife spinning up in the end of the house. " Come up," said the housewife, " I know of thy cheer and travel. Thou art going to try if thou canst catch thy man ; he is going to marry the daughter of the King of the Skies." " He is I" said she. The housewife rose ; she made meat for her ; she set on water to wash her feet, and she laid her down. If tho day came quickly, it was quicker than that that the housewife rose, and that she made meat for her. She set her on foot then for going ; and she gave her shears that would cut alone ; and she said to her, " Thou wilt be in the house of my middle sister to-night" She was going, and going, till the night came on her. She saw a light a long way from her ; and if it was a long way from her, she was not long in reaching it When she went in the house was ready swept^ a fire on the middle of the floor, and the housewife spinning at the end of the fire. " Come up," said the housewife, " I know thy cheer and travel" She made meat for her, she set on water, she washed her feet, and she laid her down. No sooner came the day than the housewife set her on foot, and made meat for her. She said she had better go ; and she gave her a needle would sew by itself. " Thou wilt be in the house of my youngest sister to-night," said she. She was going, and going, till the end of day and the mouth of lateness. She saw a light a long way from her ; and if it was a long way from her, ehe was not long in reaching it She went in, tho house was swept, and the housewife spinning at the end of the fire. " Come up," said she, " I know of thy cheer and travel" She made meat for her, she set on water, she washed her feet, and she laid her down. If tho day саше quickly, it was

2 об WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

quicker than that that the housewife rose ; she sot her on foot, and she made her meat ; she gave her a clue of thread, and the thread would go into the needle by itself ; and as the ehears would cut, and the needle sew, the thread would keep up with them. " Thou wilt be in the town to-night" She reached the town about evening, and ehe went into the house of the king's hen wife, to lay down her weariness, and she was warming herself at the fire. She said to the crone to give her work, that she would rather be working than be still. "No man is doing a turn in this town to-day," says the hen wife ; " the king's daughter has a wedding." " Ud 1" said she to the crone, " give me cloth to sew, or a shirt that will keep my hand going." She gave her shirts to make ; she took the ehears from her pocket, and she set it to work ; she set the needle to work after after it ; as the ehears would cut, the needle would sew, and the thread would go into the needle by itself. One of the king's servant maids came in ; she was looking at her, and it caused her great wonder how she made the ehears and the needle work by themselves. She went home and she told the king's daughter, that one was in the house of the hen wife, and that she had shears and a needle that could work of themselves. " If there is," said the king's daughter, " go thou over in the morning, and say to her, ' what will she take for the shears.' " In the morning she went over, and she said to her that the king's daughter was asking what would she take for the shears. " Nothing I asked," said she, " but leave to lie where she lay last night" " Go thou over," said the king's daughter, " and say to her that she will get that." She gave the ehears to the king's daughter. When they were going to lie down, the king's daughter gave him a sleep drink, so that he

THE DAUGHTER OP THE SKIES. 207

might not wake. He did not wake the length of the night ; and no sooner came the day, than the king's daughter came where she was, and set her on foot and put her out On the morrow she was working with the needle, and cutting with other shears. The king's daughter sent the maid serrant over, and she asked " what would she take for the needle ?" She said she would not take anything, hut leave to lie where she lay last night The maid servant told this to the king's daughter. " She will get that," said the king's daughter. The moid servant told that she would get that, and she got the needle. When they were going to lie down, the king's daughter gave him a sleep drink, and he did not wake that night The eldest son he had was lying in a bed beside them ; and he was hearing her speaking to him through the night, and saying to him that she was mother of his three children. His father and he himself were taking a walk out, and he told his father what he was hearing. This day the king's daughter sent the servant moid to nsk what she would take for the clue ; and she eniil she would ask but leave to lie where sho lay last night "She will get that," said the king's daughter. This night when he got the sleep drink, he emptied it, and he did not drink it at all Through the night she said to him that he was the father of her three sons ; and he said that he was. In the morning, when the king's daughter came down, he said to her to go up, that ehe was hie wife who was with him. When they rose they went away to go home. They came home ; the spells went off him, they planted together and I left them, and they left me.

1O8 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

NIGHEAN RIQH MAN SPEÜR.

BIIA 'ilod aim roimhe ao tuathanach, 's bha triiiir nigheanan aige, '• mtiran cruidh i< chaorach. Dh' fholbh e la' a'm faicinn '• cha robh gin r'a fbaotalnn illiiu, 'a thug e fad an lutlm 'gan ¡arraidh. Cbunnaic e, anna an anamoch a' tighinn dachaidh, cuilean beag a' ruith feadh pairee. Thainig an cuilean far an robh e, " De bbeir thu uhiimbs'," urs' esan,"ma gheobhml do chuid cruidh if coorachdhuit?" "Cha 'n 'ell fhioe 'am fein a ruid gbrannda. "De bhioi thu 'g ¡arraidh? '* bheirmiae dhult e de ni aam bith a th' agam." "An d' thoir tho dhumb," ura' an cuilean, " do nighean mbör r'a poaadb." " Bheir raise dhuit I," ura' eaan, - ma ghabhaa i fein thu.» Chaidh iad dhachaidh, e ft'in '• an cuilean. Dh' flioiglmeachd a h-ailiair d'anighean bu ihine an gabbadb i e, 'a tliuirt i nach gabbadh. Thuirt e ris au dama té am pbaadh ¡so e, 'i Ihuirt l nach pósadh, ged nacli faighte an erodh gu brin li. Thuirt e ria an té 'b big« am poaadh ¡SB e, 'a tliuirt I gam poaadh. 1'hoi iad, 'a bha 'peathraichean a' magadh urra airaon gun do phot i e. Thug e lei» dhachaidh i d'à alte fein. Nur t thalnig e g* a alt« cbmhnuldh ft'in dh' fhai e 'na dhuine ciatach. Bha lad combla bine mhbr, '• thuirt i*e gum b' fhekrra dhi dol a dh' ambare a h-atliar. Thuirt esan rithe i tholrt an aire nach fhanadh i gua am biodh dann aice. Bha l torrach 'aan am. Thuirt i nach fanadh. Thug e dhl «temí, 's i huir i e rithe, cho luath 'a a ruigeadh i 'n tigh an t-irian a thoirt /a ceann, 'a a lelgeil air folbh, 's nur a bhiodli toll aice tlghinn dachaidh nach robh aie' ach an t-arlan a chrathadb, '» gun d' thlgeadh an iteud '• gun cuircadh i 'ceann ¡unie. Rinn i mär a dh' iarr e urra. Cha robh l fad' an tigh a h-athar nur a dh' fhàa l gu bochd 'за cbaldh ah-aaald. An eidliche sin bha daoine cruinn aig a' ghealbhan 'ga 'faire. Tliainig an aona chebl a bu bbinne chualas riamh feadh a' bhaile, 's chaidil a' h-uile duine itigh ach be. Thainig eaan a aiigh '» thug e uaithe am phisde. Ghabh e 'mach 's dh' fholbh e. Stad an cebl, 'в dhuiag gach duine, 'a cha robh lies de 'n taobh a chaidh am paisde. Cha d' innis i nl aam bith, ach cho luath 'i a dh' Yiri.Hi l thug i leatha an t-srian, 's chrath i i, 'ш thainig an «teud, 'i chulr i 'ceann innte. Ghabh i air mharcachd urra, 'a ghabh an iteud air folbh dhachaidh ; bheireadh iae air a ghaolth luath rnhart a bh' air thoueach orra, 'в cha bhehteadh a ghaoth luath mhhrt a bha na díigli orra. Rkinig i.

"ThUinig thu," ura' eaan. " ThWnlg," ura' lee. Cha do leig e rud earn bith air rithe, 'в cha mhotha leig ise rudïânTbith orra risan. Dluth air ceann tri raithean a rithiad thuirt ¡ее, " 'S fbearra dhomh

NIOHEAN HIOII NAN 8FEUR. 209

dol а .ИГ amharc m' ntlnr." Thoirt e rithe air an t-tiubbal ю mar a IIniirt e roimhid. Thag i leatha an stead 's db' fbolbh i. Nur а ràinig i thug i n t-srian a ceann na steud, '• leig i dbachaidb i, '( an oidhche sin f':in chaldh a h-asaid. Thainig esan mar a rinn • roimhid le ccM. Chaidil a' h-oile duinc, 'a thug e leis am paiade. Kur a itad an ri-íil dhiiisg lud air fad. Him Mi-atlmr air a h-aodann ag rhdh ritbe gum feumadh I innseadh de bu cliiall de 'n ghnolbach. Cha 'n innseadh iac ni ват bith. Nur a dh' fhàa i gil math, 'a a db' ¿iridh i, thug I leatha an t-srian, chrath i i, 's thainig an eteud, 'e chuir i ceann innte. Ghabh i air folbh dhachaidh. Nur a rainig i thuirt esan. " Thainig thti." "Thainig," un' ¡M. Cbado leig e nid sa m bith air ritbe, 'g cha mhotha 'leig iae nrra rúan. An ceann tri raithean a rithisd tbuirt i, " 'S fhearra dhomh dol a dh' ambare m' athar." " Dean,* un' élan, " ach tboir an aire nach dean tbu mar a rinn thu an da ihiubhal roimhid." " Cha dean," un' ise. Thug e dhi an it«ud, 'i dh' ïholbh i. Rainig i tigh a h-athar, '> dh' aaaid- eadh l 'n oidhche sin féln. Thaiuig an cef.l mär a b' ablnist, 's thngadb am palid' air folbh. Bha 'h-athair air a h-aodann an »in, '• • 'dol a 'marbhadh mar an innseadh i d<: 'bba tachairt do na paladean, no ut 'n seona duine a bh' alce. Leia an eagal a chuir e uira dh' innia I dha e. Nur a dh' fhaa i gu math, thug i leatha an l-arian pu слое a bha ma 'coinneamh, 'a thouich i air crathadh na (refine feuch an d'thigeadh an steud, na'n cuireadh i 'ceann innte, 's ged a bhiodh i 'crathadh fhathaad cha d'thigeadh an ateud. Nur a chunnaic l nach robh i 'tighinn ghabh l mach 'na cola. Nur » rainig I cha robh duine atigh ach a' chailleach a bu mliathair dha. •' 'l lia thus» gun fhear tigbe an diugh," urs' a' chailleach, '"l ma bhios thu tapaidh beiridh thu air fhathaad."

Ghabh l alr folbh, '» bha t 'folbh gua an d'thainig an oidhche orra. Chunnaic i 'n ain »olna fada uaithe, 'a ma b' fhada uaiihe cha b' fhada bha iae 'g» 'ruigheachd. Nur a chaidh i stigh bha nrlar reldh aguabte rolmhpe, 'a bean an tlghe 'anlomh ehoaa an wann an Ughe. " ТЫ*; а ntoa," urea bean an tlghe, " tha fio« do abend 'a do shlubhail agamsa." Tlia Ihu foil.h fruch am beir tbu air t-fhear. Tha • 'folbh a phosadh nigbean rtgh nan «peur." "l'haï" им' iae. Dh' élri4fa bean an tigh« ; rinn i biadh dhi ; chuir I air ulage 'ghlanadh a caa ; 'a chair i laidbe I. Ma bn luath a thalnig an lalha bu loaithe na ain a dh' <••' elriaTh bean an tinhe '»« rinn I biadh dhi. Chair I air a cola l 'n ein atraon folbh, 'a thug i dhi alosar a ghearradh lela féin, 'a thuirt I ritbe. " Bidh thu ann an tigh mo phinlbar mheadhonachaa nochd." Bha i 'folbh 'a a' folbh,- gua an d' thalnig an oidhche urra. Chunnaic i aoloa fada uaithe/ a ma b' fhada ualtba cha b' fliada bha IM 'ga riiigbeachd.

2IO WEST HIGHLAND TALKS.

Nur a chaidh i «tlgh bha 'n tigh rcTidh, sguabte ; gealbhan air meadh on an urlair, '* bean an tight 'anfomh an ceann a' ghealbbain. " Tliig a nloi," urea bean an tighe, " tha fio« do sheud '» do ihiubliail agamaa." Rinn i biadh dhi; chuir i air nisge; gblan i 'casan 'i cbulr i laidhe i. Cha bu luaitha a thainig an latba na 'chuir bean an tighe air a cola l, 'a a rinn i biadh dlii. Thuirt i rithe gum b' fhearra dbl folbh, 'i thug i dhi inathad a dh' fhuaigheadh Icatha fein. " Bidh thu ann an tigh mo pheathar is óige a nochd," urs' ise.

Bha I folbh 'a a' folbh gn deireadh lath* 'a b«ul anamotch. Chan, naic i solus fada uaithe, 's ma b' fhada uaithe cha b' fhada bba ¡se 'ga ruigheachd. Chaidh i atigh. Bha 'n tigh aguabte, 'в bean an tighe 'anlomh oe ceann a' ghealbhain. " Thlg a nïoa," un' iae, " tha ño» do abeud 'a do ahiubbail agamia." Rinn i biadh dhi ; •' chuir i air uisge ¡ ghlan i 'casan, 'i chuir I laidhe i. Ha bu luath a thainig an latha, bu lualthe na «¡о a dh' éiriíh bean an tighe; chuir i air a cola 1, 'a rinn i biadh dhi. Thug i dhi ceainle ahualli, 'a rachadh an snath- alnn anuí an t-inathid lela fein, 'a mur a ghearradh an siosar, 'a mar a dh' fhuaigheadh an t-aualhad, chumadli a chcairele anàth ruithj. • " Bidh thu anna a' bhaile nochd." ' "

Kkinig i 'm baile ma fheaagar 'a chaldh I itlgh do tblgh chailleach chearo an rlgh. Shuidh I 'leigell a sgïos ; bha i ga garaJh aig a' ghealbhan ; thuirt 1 ris a' chaillich obair a* thoirt dhi, gum b' fheàrr leatha 'bhi 'g obair na bhi 'na tamh. "Cha 'n 'eil duine dèanadh turn 'sa' bhaile so n diugh," urea a' chailleach ; " tha posadh aig nigh- eau an righ." " Dd I " ura' ise rU a' chaillich, " thoir dhomh aodach r'a fhuaghal, na Mine 'chumas mo làmh air folbh." Thug i dlii lélntean r'a dhèanadh. Thug i mach alosar ara poca; chuir 1 dh' obair e; chuir l 'n t-snathad a dh' obair aa a dhéigh. Mar a ghearradh an »iosar dh' fhuaigheadh an t-tnathad, 'a rachadh an snàth anns an t-snàthaid leis fein. Thainig t¿ do ihearbhantan an righ stigh ; bha i 'к ambare um ; 'a bha e cur io^líUSas rao r urra demur a bha i ' toirt air an t- aioaar 'aair an t-inathadoibreachadh leothafiun. Chaidhi dhachaidh,'s Jh' innia 1 do nighean an righ gun robh to" ann an tigh chailleach nan cearc, 's gun robh alosar agua snathad aice a dh' oibreachadh leotha fiSin. u" Ma tha," uraa nighean an rtgh, " theirig thusa nunn anns a' mhalilinn, 'a abair lithe de 'ghabhaa i air an t-aioaar." Anna a' mliaidlnn chaidh i 'nunn, 'a tliuirt i rithe gun robh nighean an righ a' foighneachd áé ghabhadh i air an t-aioaar. " Cha 'n iarr mi," urs' ise, "ach cead laidhe far an do laldh 1 Win an rair." « Theirig thusa nunn," nraa nighean an righ, "'s abair rithe gum faigh i sin." Thug I 'n aioaar do nighean an righ.

NIOIIEAN Rion NAN 8PEUR. « 11

Nur m Mi» Ud a' dot a Uidhe thng nighean an righ deoch chadail «lasan, air alt 's nach diiisgcadh e. Cha do dnùisg e fad na h-oidhche, '• cha bu luaithe a thainig an latha na thainig nighean an righ far an robh ¡se, 'sa chulr i air a cois i. An la 'r na mhaireach bha i 'g obair leis an t-snathaid, 's a' gearradh le siosar eil«. Chuir nighean an righ an searbhanU nunn a dh' fholghneachd de" 'ghabhadh i air an t-snathaid. Thuirt i nach gabhadh ni sam bith ach cead laidhe far an do laidh i nur. Dh' innis an searbhanta so do nighean an righ. " Gheobh i sin," arsa nighean an rtgh. Dh' innis an searbhanta gam faigheadh i siod, 's fhuair i 'n t-snkthad. Nur a bha iad a' dol a laidhe thng nighean an righ deoch chadai1 da, 's cha do dhùisg e 'n oidhche sin. Bha 'm mac a bu shine lili' aige ann an leaba lamh riutha, 's bha e 'ga 'cluinntinn a* bruidhinn ris feadh na h-oidhche, 's ag radh ris gum b'i matliair a thriiiir chloinn' i. Bha athair 's e fein a' gabhail sraid a mach, 's dh' innis e d'à athalr de" 'bha e 'cluinntinn. An latha so chuir nighean an righ an searbhanta a dh' fhebraich de 'ghabliadh 1 air a' cheairsle, 's thuirt i rithe nach larradh i ach cead laidhe far an do laldh ! 'n rair. " Gheobh i sin," ursa nighean an righ. An oidbche so nur a fhuair e 'n deoch chadail thaom e i, 's cha d' bl e idir L Feadh na h-oidhche thuirt Ise ris gum b' e athair a trüiir mac, 's thuirt »an gum b' «.

Anns a mha/ojnn, nur a thainig nighean an righ nnas, thuirt e rithe i 'dhol suss, gum bl 'bhean a bha lela. Nur a dh' eiridh iad dh' fhollih iad airson dol dachaidh. Thainig iad dachaldh; dh' fholbh na geasan deth. Chuir iad cbmhla 's dhealaich mise riutha, 's dheal- alch ladaan riumaa.

This is but another version of No. III., " The Hoodie ;" bat it Ьм certain magic gift« which I Ьате not found in any other Qaelio story ; and the little dog who goes to the skies, and is about to marry the daughter of the king, and is transformed into • man at home, may turn out to be л Celtic divinity. When so little is known of Celtic mythology, anything may be of use. The ravon, the crow, and the serpent, have appeared as transformed being* of superior power. Now, the little dog appears, and there are mystic dog* elsewhere in Gaelic stories, and in other Celtio countries. In the Isle of Man is the well-known " Modey dhn," black dog which used to haunt Peel Castle, and frightened a soldier to death.

In a curious book, written to prove Gaelic to be the original language (History of the Celtio Language, by L. MacLean, 1840),

212 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

there is a great deal of speculation as to the Faraesc Globe ; and the dog-star in particular is supposed to bave been worshipped by the Druids. Without entering into such a wide Beld, it is worth notice that " Anubis," the dug-star, was son of Osiris and Nophlhys, had the nature of a dog, and was represented with the head of one. He was a celestial double deity, and watched the tropics. The servant lad who told this story ; and the old woman, Mac Kerrol, from whom he learned it, are not likely persons to have heard of Anubis, or the Farnese Globe ; so anything got from them may be taken at its value, whatever tbat may be. The opinion that Celts came from the East by way of Phœnicia, has been held by many, and some one may wish to follow the trail of the little dog ; so I give his history as it came to me, rather than fuse it into one story with the Hoodie, as I was at first tempted to do before the plan of this work was decided on.

The beginning of this tale is the Gaelic " Once upon a time." Him siod nun roimlie so. Wai yonder in it ere this.

TEIUR is a collective noun of number for three, and answers to leaih; or to pair, brace, dozen, for two; twelve.

STBUD is clearly the same word as steed. It is commonly used in these stories, and I have never heard it used in conversation. It is feminine, like KALAIKE, the other word commonly used for a horse in stories and poetry; and hardly ever in ordinary speech.

Many words are derived from steud, and I do not think that it is imported. ,

XIII. THE GIRL AND THE DEAD MAN.

From Ann Darroch, Iel»j.

TEUERE was before now a poor woman, and she had -*- a leash of daughters. Said the eldest one of them to her mother, " I had better go myself and seek for fortune." " I had better," said her mother, "bake a bannock for thee." When the bannock was ready, her mother said to her, " Whether wouldst thou like best the bit and my blessing, or the big bit and my curse Г " I would rather," said she, " the big bit and thy curso." She went away, and when the night was wreathing round her, she sat at the foot of a wall to eat the bannock. There gathered the sroath chuilean- ach and her twelve puppies, and the little birds of the air about her, for a part of the bannock. " Wilt thou give us a part of the bannock," said they. " I won't give it, you ugly brutes ; I have not much for myself." " My curse will be thine, and the curse of my twelve birds ; and thy mother's curse is thy worst of all" She rose and she went away, and she had not half enough with the bit of the bannock. She saw a little house a long way from her ; and if a long way from her, she was not long reaching it She struck in the door. " Who's there Г " A good maid seeking a master." " We want that," said they, and she

2 I 4 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

got in. She had now a pock of gold and a peck of silver to get ; and she was to be awake every night to watch a dead man, brother of the housewife, who was under spells. She had besides, of nuts as she broke, of needles as she lost, of thimbles as she pierced, of thread as she used, of candles as she burned, a bed of green silk over her, a bed of green silk under her, sleeping by day and watching by night The first night when she was watching she fell asleep ; the mistress came in, she struck the magic club on her, she fell down dead, and she threw her out at the back of the midden.

Said the middle one to her mother, " I had better go seek fortune and follow my sister." Her mother baked her a bannock ; and ehe chose the big half and her mother's curse, as her elder sister did, and it happened to her as it happened to her sister.

Said the youngest one to her mother, " I had better myself go to seek fortune too, and follow my sisters." " I had better bake a bannock," said her mother. "Whether wouldst thou rather the little bit and my blessing, or the big bit and my curse 1" " I would rather the little bit and your blessing." She went, and the night was wreathing round her, and she sat at the foot of a wall to eat the bannock. There gathered the smith chuileanach and the twelve puppies, and the little birds of the air about her. " Wilt thou give us some of that 1" " I will give, you pretty creatures, if you will keep me company." She gave them some of the bannock ; they ate and they had plenty, and she had enough. They clapped their wings about her till she was snug with the warmth. She went, she saw a little house a long way from her ; and if it was a long way from her, she was not long reaching it She struck in the door. " Who 's

THE 01RL AND THE DEAD MAN. 11 J

there t" " A good maid seeking a master." " We have need of thai" The wages she had were a peck of gold and a peck of silver ; of nuts as she broke, of needles as sho lost, of thimbles as she pierced, of thread as sho used, of candles as sho burned, a bed of the green silk over her, and a bed of the green silk under her. She sat to watch the dead man, and she was sewing ; on the middle of night he rose up, and screwed up a grin. " If thou doet not lie down properly, I will give thee the one leathering with a stick." He lay down. At the end of a while, he rose on one elbow, and screwed up a grin ; and the third time he rose and screwed up a grin. When he rose the third time, she struck him a lounder of the stick ; the stick stuck to the dead man, and the hand stuck to the stick ; and out they were. They went forward till they were going through a wood ; when it was low for her it was high for him ; and when it was high for him it was low for her. The nute were knocking their eyes out, and the sloes taking their ears off, till they got through the wood. After going through the wood they returned homo. She got a peck of gold and a pock of silver, and the vessel of cordial. She rubbed the vessel of cordial to her two sisters, and brought them alive. They returned home ; they left me sitting here, and if they were well, 'tis well ; and if they were not, let them be.

AN NIGHINN AQU8 AN DU1NE MARIUI.

Вял be*n bhochd «in roimh« to, '« bha triiiir nighmn «ice. Tliuirl *n t¿ bo thin« dhiu r'l mkthair, " 'S fheàrra dhomh fhlin dol l dh' Uirmldh «it fhorUin." " 'S fhckrri dhomh«," uru • iiiMluir, " bonn- ich a dheuachadh dhuit." Nur • bha'm bonnacb rcidh tbulrt »

2 l6 WEST HIGHLAND TALKS.

mathair rithe, cb'ca 'i fheiur leat a* bhlaidh bheag '> mo bheannachd na 'bblaid h mhor '• mo mhollaclid." " 'S fhcïirr learn," ига' ¡м, " a' bhlaidh mhbr 'a do mhollaclid." П1Г fholbb i. Nur a bha 'n oidhche 'casadh um iliuidh i 'chois garraidh a dh' itheadh a' bhoanaich. Nor a ihuidh i 'dh1 itheadh a' bhonnaich chruinnich an t-sreath chuileanacb, 'a a da chuilean deug. 'a coin bheag an atliar timchiull urra airaon pàirt de 'n bhonnach. " An d'thoir thu dbuinne pairt de 'n bbonnach," un' iadaan. " Cha d'thobhair a bheathaichean granada; cha mhbr a th' agam dbomh {fin. " Kiodh mo mbollaclids' agadaa, 'i mollachd mo dha eun deug, '• e mollachd do mlmthar ia incasa dhuit air fad."

Dh' élridh i 'a dh' fbolbh i, 'i cha robh leith a leoir 'a a* bhlaidh bhonnaich. Chunnaic i tigh beag fada uaithe, 'a ma b' Diada uaithe cha b' fhada bha i«e 'ga ruighencbd. Bhuail i '»an dorusd. " Co tba sind?" " Searbhanta math aig iarraidh nmigbstir." "Tha sin a dhith oirnnc," un* iadaan, a' fhnalr i 'atigh. Bha peic bir ia peic airgid aice r'a fhaotainn, '» l ri aithreachach a' h-uile h-oidhch' a' faire duine marbh, bràthair do bhean an tigbe 'bha fo gheasan Dha aice cuideachd dochnuthan mar a bhrisdeadb 1; de elmùtliadan mar a t-liaillcailli i ; '• do mhuuraiii mur a thollndh i ; de ihnuth mar a choadadh i ; de cboinnlean mar a loiageadh i; leaba do n t-afod' Haine thairte; leaba de'n t-iioda uaine (biche; codai 'aan latha, '» aith- reachadh "eau oidhche.

A* chlad oidnche, nur a bha i Taire, thuit i 'na cadal. Thainig a banamhaighatir a stigb; bbuail i 'n alachdan draoidheachd urra; tbuit i eloa marbh ; '» thilg i mach cul an dûnain i.

Thuirt an té mheadhonach r'a m&thair, "'S flieirra domh dol a dh' Iarraidh an fhortain, '• mo phuithar a leantainn." Dheasaich a mathair bonnach, 'i rolghnich iae an leith mhbr ia mollachd a miitlmr, mar a rinn a piuthar a bu ahine. Thachair dhi mar a tliachalr d'à piuthar.

Thuirt an té b' bige r'a mathair, "'Sfheàrra dhomh foin dol a dh' iarraidh an fhorlain cuideachd, '» mo pheathraichean a leantainn." "'S fhearra dhbmhaa boniuch a dheaaachadh," un' a mathair. " Cb'ca 'a fhearr leat a' bhlaidh bheag 'a mo bheannachd, na 'bhlaidh mhbr 'a mo mhollachd, " 'S fliearr leam a bhlaidh bheag 'a bbur beann- achd " Dh' fholbh i. Bha 'n oidhche 'casadh urra, 'a ehuidh i 'chois gùrraidh a dh' itheadh a bhonnaich. Chruinnich an t-sreath chuileanacb, 'a an da chuilean den«, 'a ebin bhrag an athair timchioll urra. " An d'thobhair thn dbuinne rud dheth ain ? " << Uheithir a bheath- aichean bbidheach, ma ni >ibh cornaitb rium Win. Thug i dhaibhrud de 'n bhonnach ; dh' itb iad e ; 'l bha na leoir acosan 'a na lebir alce

AN N If Ml I NN AOU8 AN DUINE M AIII1II. 2 I 7

fiTin. СЫар lad an sgiathan timchioll nrra, 's blia 1 'na faina lei> a' bhlathas

1ИГ fholbh i. Cbnnnaic i tigh beag fada naithe, 's ma b' fbada oaithe cha b' fhada 'bha ise 'ga 'ruigheachd. Bhnail i 'san dorus. " Co siod? " " Searbhanta math aig iarraidh maighstir." " Tha tin a dhUh birnne." Se 'n tuarasdal а ЫГ aice peie 6ir is peic air- gid ; de chnutlian mar a bhriedeadh i ; de slinhthadin mar a chaill- eadh i; de mheurain mar a tbolladh i; de shnath mar a chosdadh 1; de choinnlean mar a loisgeadh 1 ; leaba de n t-slod' naine thairte, 's leaba de 'n t-»\od naine fbiche.

Shuidh i Taire an duine mhairbh, 's bha 1 fdaghaL Air a' mheadhon oidhche dh' ¿irldh esan, 's chas e braoisg air. " Mar an laidh thu etas mar a th' agad bbeir mise aon straoileadh dhait de bhata." Laidh e Ao». Ann ceann tacan beag a rithlsd dh' tflridh e air a leith-uilinn, 's chas • braoisg air, 's an treas uair dh' ¿irldh e's chas e braoisg air It" Mura dh' clridh e 'n' trees uair bhuail I straoileadb de 'o Mint' air. Lean am bata ris an duine mharbh ; lean an lumh ris a' bhata l 's a mach a bha iad. Ghabh lad air an aghaidh gus an robh iad a' dol romh clmille. Msr a b' Iseal dise e b' àrd dhasan e, 's mar a b' ard dhasan e b' béai dise e. Bha na cnuthan a' toirt nan «til asda, 's na h-airnean a' tolrt nan cluas dbiulha, gus an d' fhualr iad romh 'n choille. An dflgh dol romh 'n choille thill iad dschaidh. Fliuair i peic 6ir is peic airgid, '»am bailan \ocihlainL Rub i 'm linllanlocshlaint r'a da phiuthar, 's thug I Ьеб iad. Thill iad dhachaidh. Dh' fhKg iad mise a'm 'shuldbc so, 's ma bha lad ga math 's math, 's mär an robb leigear dhalbh.

This story has some relation to " The man who traTclled to learn what frar was ;" bat I know nothing quite like it in Gaelic, or in any other language. Ann Darroch, who told it to Hector MacLoan in May 1859, learned it from an old woman, Margaret Conal, of whom MacLean wrilci—

" I hare some recollection of her myself; she was wont to repeat numerous ' orsgeuln' (tales). Her favourite resort* were the kilns, where the people were kiln-drying their corn ; and where she was frequently rewarded, for amusing th«m in this manner, by snpplies of meal. She was paralytic; her head shook like an aspen leaf, and whenever she repeated anything that was тегу exciting, her head ahook more rapidly ; which impressed children with great »we."

Íl8 WEHT HIGHLAND ТЛ1.Е.Ч.

Some of the phrases are evidently remembered, and said by heart ; the maiJ'u wages, for iimtuiico ; and tho croaturei that came to the wandering daughter«. The vessel of Balsam occurs often in Qaelio stories, and I cannot make out what it really means. IIU.I.AN IOOSHLAIHT, teat, of ichor, of health, seems to be the meaning of the words.

In former days the kilns were not always used for drying corn. It is related that one of the first excisemen who went to the West, found and caught a Urge party of men kiln-drying malt. He made a seizure of course, and was not a little surprised when he wai seized himself, and his arms tied fast behind him. His eyee were bound also ; and then he was led to the kiln and set down near the fire ; and they gave him the malt to smell and taste ; and then they told him it was to be used in making whisky ; and then they gave him a drop, and then a dram, till the ganger was so drunk that they left him there, and departed with their malt kiln-dried and ground.

This I have heard told of the тегу place which Margaret Conal used to haunt, and of a time when she might have been a little girl ; I cannot vouch for the truth of my story, but the kiln and the men about it may be seen now ; and such scenes may well account for the preservation of wild stories. A child would not easily forget a story learned amongst a lot of rough fanners, seated at night round a blazing fire, listening to an old crone with palsied head and hands ; and accordingly, I havo repeatedly heard that the mill, and the kiln, were the places where my informants learned their tales.

There is a word in this tale which the narrator, the translator, the transcriber, the dictionary, and the " old men," have failed to explain.

SKBATH CHDILEANACH means some kind of bird, and she has twelve " puppies,1' DA CBUILKAH DEDO. The narrator maintains that the words are right as she heard them.

XIV.

THE KING WHO WISHED TO MAERY HIS DAUGHTER

From Ann Darrocb, Iiloj.

AHUERE was a king before now, and he married, and -*- he had but one daughter. When his wife departed, he would marry none but one whom her clothes would fit His daughter one day tried her mother's dress on, and she саше and she let her father see how it fitted her. It was fitting her well When her father saw her he would marry no woman but her. She went, crying whore her muinio was ; and her foster mother said to her, " What was the matter with her 1" She said, " That her father was insisting that he would marry her." Her muime told her to say to him, " That she would not marry him till he should get her a gown of the swan's down." lie went, and at the end of a day and a year he came, and the gown with him. She went again to take the counsel of her muime. " Say to him," said her muimo, " that thou wilt not marry him till he gete thee a gown of the moorland canach." She said this to him. He went, and at the end of a day and year he returned, and a gown of the moorland canach with him. " Say now to him," said her muime, " that thou wilt not marry him till he brings thee а gown of silk that will stand on the ground with gold

22O WEST HIGHLAND TALKS.

and silver." At the end of a day and year he returned with the gown. " Say to him now," said her muime, " that thou wilt not marry him till he brings thee a golden shoe, and a silver shoe." He got her a golden shoe and a silver shoe. " Say to him now," said her muime, "that thou wilt not marry him unless he brings thee a k ist that will lock without and within, and for which it is all the same to bo on sea or on land." When she got the kist, she folded the best of her mother's clothes, and of her own clothes in it. Then she went herself into the kist, and she asked her father to put it out on the sea to try how it would swim. Her father put it out ; when it was put out, it was going, and going, till it went out of sight

It went on shore on the other side ; and a herd came where it woe, intending to break it, in hopes that there were findings in the chest When he was going to break it ehe called out, " Do not so ;" but say to thy father to come here, and he will get that which will better him for life." His father came, and he took her with him to his own housa It was with a king that he was herd, and the king's house was near him. " If I could get," said she, " leave to go to service to this great house yonder." " They want none," said the herd, " unless they want ono under the hand of the cook." The herd went to speak for her, and she went as a servant maid under the hand of the cook. When the rest were going to the sermon ; and when they asked her if she was going to it, she said that she was not ; that she had a little broad to bake, and that she could not go to it When they wont away, sho took herself to the herd's house, and she put on а gown of the down of the swan. She went to the sermon, and she sat opposite the king's son. The king's son took love for her. She went a while before the

ТНК KINO WHO WISHED TO HARRY HIS DAUGHTER. 221

sermon ekailed, she reached the herd's house, she changed her clothes, and she was in before them. Wben the rest came home, it was talking about the gentlewoman that was at the sermon they were.

The next Sunday they said to her, " Was she going to the sermon ;" and she said, " That she was not, that she had a little bread to bake." When they went away, she reached the herd's house, and she put on a gown of the moorland canach ; and she went to the sermon. The king's son was seated where she was the Sunday before, and she sat opposite to him. She came out before them, and she changed, and she was at the house before them ; and when the rest came home, it was talking about the great gentlewoman that was at the sermon they were. The third Sunday, they said to her, " Was she going to the sermon ;" and she said, " That she was not, that she had a little bread to bake." When they went away, she reached the herd's house ; she put on the gown that would stand on the ground with gold and silver, and the golden shoo and the silver shoe, and she went to the sermon. The king's son was seated where she was the Sunday before, and she sat where ho was. A watch was set on the doors this Sunday. She arose, she saw a cranny, and she jumped out at the cranny ; but they kept hold of one of the shoes.

The king's son said, " Whomsoever that shoe ' would fit, she it was that he would marry."

Many were trying the shoe on, and taking off their toe« and heels to try if it would fit them ; but there were none whom the shoe would fit There was a little bird in the top of a tree, always saying as every one was trying on the shoe, " Beeg beeg ha nan doot a heeg ach don tjay veeg a ha fo laiv a hawchkarc." " Wee woo, it comes not on thoo ; but on the woo one

22Z • WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

under the hand of the cook." When he could get none whom the shoe would fit, the king's son lay down, and his mother went to the kitchen to talk over the matter. " Wont you let me see the shoe Г said she ; " I will not do it any harm at all évente." " Thou ! thou ugly dirty thing, that it should fit thee." She wont down, and sho told this to her son. " Is it not known," said he, "that it wont fit her at all évente 1 and can't you give it her to please her Г As soon as the shoe went on the floor, the shoe jumped on her foot " What will you give me," said she, " to let you see the other one ?" She reached the herd's house, and she put on the shoes, and the dress that would stand on the floor with gold and silver. When she returned, there was hut to send word for a minister, and she herself and the king's son married.

URSGEUL.

BHA 'ilod rlgh arm rolmhe ю, 't phi» e, "e cha robh aige »ch an ton nighean. Nur a sMubhatl a' bhean cha phösadhe gin ach te 'fhreag- radh a h-aodach dhi. Dh' fheuch a nlghean latha aodach a mathar urr.i, 'i thalnlg i '» leig i fhaicinn d'à h-a t hair mar a fhreagradh e dhi. Bha e 'frcagairt • dhi. Bha e 'freagairt dhi gu math. Nur a ctmnn- aic a h-athair i, cha phbsadh e bean ach i. Chaldh i 'caoineadh far an robh a muime, 'a thuirt a muime rithe de bh' um. Thuirt i gun robh a h-atbair a' car rolmbe gum posadh e i. Thuirt a muime rithe 'ràdh ris nach posadh e i gua am faigheadh e dhi guthann de chlöimhe na li-eala.

Dh' fholbh e 's au ceann la Is bliadhna thainig e, 's an guthann leis. Chaldh l 'rltlilid a ghabhall^comhalrl' a ranime. " Alinir ris," un' a muime, * nach pb« tliu e gui am faigh e dhult guthann de clinnach an t-iUibbe. Thuirt I «o ris. Dh' fholbh e, '« an ceann la is blladh- na thill e '• guthann de chanach an t-sliíililie leii. " Abair rii a nía," un' a muime, " nach рба thu e gus an d' thotr e 't' ionnsuidh guthann i'iod' a iheasaa air an lar le h-br 's le alrgiod. An ceann la is bliadhna thill e leis a ghuthann. " Abair ris a nía," un' a muime, " nach pos

URSGEUL. 223

thu e gat an il' tboir e Ч 'ionnsuidh brbg bir is brbg airgid." Khuair e dbi brbg oir ¡i brbg airgid. " Abalr ris a nie," una a muime, "nach pbe I ha « mar an d' tboir e Ч' ionnauidh ciad« a ghlalaeaa a mach '• a High, 's is colngeis leatha bhl air muir na air ür.

Nur a fhoair e cbisde phaíag i chuid a b' fhearr de dh' aodaeh a matliar 'i d'à h-aodach foin innte. Chaidh i fi:in an sin a itigh 'i a* chlide, '• dh' larr I «ir a h-athair a car а mach air an fhairge feuch ili:mur a shnamhsdh i. Chuir a h-ithair a mach i. Nor a chaidh a chiml' a mach, bha 1 folbh '( a' folbh gui an deach I u an t-aealladh. Chaidh i air tir air an taobh eile, 's thainig buachaille far an robb i ainon a brisdeadh, an dull gun robh feudail anns a' chisde. Mur a bha e 'dol a 'brisueadh ghlaoidh ise, " Na dèan ach abair ri t'athair tighinn an so, 'i gheobh e na > fbeaird e r'a libró. Thhinig 'athair '• thug e leis g'a thigh fein i. 'S ann aig righ bha 'in buachaille, 'a bha tigh an righ dliith air. "Nam faighinn," un' ise, " dol air fasdadh do 'n tlgh mhbr so thall." " Cha 'n 'eil gin a dhUh orr'," an' am buachaille, " mar am bheil ti dhUh orra fo laimh a' chbcalre." Chaidh am buachaille 's bbruidhin e air a son,'s chaidh i 'na searbhanta fo laimli a' cbocaire.

Nor a bha each a' dol do 'n t-aeannoin, 's a dh' fhebraidh iad dhise an robh i dol ann, thuirt i nach robh gun robh beagan arain alee r'a dheisachadh, 's nach b'urrainn i dol ann. Nur a dh' fholbh iad&an thug I orra tigh a' bhuachaille, 's chuir I urra guthann de chlblmhe na b-eala. Chaidh i do 'n t-searmoin, 's shuidh i ma choinneamh mac an rtgh. Uhabh mac an rtgh gaol urra. Dh' fholbh ise tacan ma'n do agaoil an t-aeannoin ; rainig I tigh a' bhuachaille ; dh' atbarraieh i h-aodach ; 'a bha 1 stlgh rompa. Nor a thalnig each dhachaidh 's ann aig iomradh air a' bhean uual mhbr a bha 's an t-searmoin a bba lad. An ath dhbmhnach thuirt lad rllbe, an robh i dol do 'n t-searmoin, 's thuirt i nach robh, gun robh beagan train alee r'a dheaaach- adh. Nor a dh' fholbh iadun raJnig 1 tigh a' bhuachaille, 's chair i urra gnthann de chanach an t-slelbhe, 's chaidh I do 'n Uaearmoin. Bha mac an righ 'na shuidhe far an robh be an domhnach roimhid, Isabuldli Ise ma choinneamh. Thainig l mach air thoiseach orra; dh' atharralch l,'s bha I alg an tigh rompa; 's nur a thsJnig each dhachaidh 's ann alg Iomradh air a' bhean uval mhbr a bha 'san t-aearmoln a bba lad. An treas dbmhnach thuirt lad rithe an robh I dol do 'n t-aearmoin, 's thnirt l nach robh 'gun robh beagan ariin aie« r'a dhtasachadh. Nor a dh' fholbh ladsan rainig i tigh a bhuachaille ; chub- i urra an gathann a abtaaadh air an lar le h-fir 's le h' aJrgiod ; 's a' bhrbg blr 's a' bhrbg airgid ; 's cliaidh l'n t-seau iiioln. Bbâ mac an r'igh 'na shuidh« for an robh Ue an dbnihnach roimhid

224 WE9T HIGHLAND TALES.

's shuldh Uo far an robb ешп. Chaidh faire 'chur tir na donan an dbiulinucb во. Dir ¿iridh ix. Chunnaic i fruchag, i' learn 1 mach air an fbruchalg, ach ghliHdh iad griiiin air té de na brbgan. Tbuirt mac an righ ii earn bith d'ara freagradh a' bhrög gur h' i 'pbbaadh eaan. Bha moran a' feuchainn na bring orra, '« a' toirt dbiu nan ladh- aran agua nan lailtean feuch am fireagradb i dhaibh, ach cha robh gin d'an robh a' bbrog a' freagairt. Bha eun beag am bar craoibhe, 's e daoiinan ag radh, h-uile té bha feuchainn na bröig um. " Big, big, cha 'n ann duit a tblg, ach do 'n te bhig a tha fo làimh a' chbcaire.' Mur nach robh iad a' faolainn gin d'am freagradh a' bhrbg laidh mac an rtgh, 'l clmidh a' mhathair do 'n chidsin a dh' iomradh air a' ghnothach. " Nach leig aibh ftuicinn diimlis' a' bhrög," un' Ue; "cha dean mi cuire urra со dbiu." "Thusa a ruid ghrannda, shalaichl pum freagradh i dnnitaet" Cbaidh i s'ios 'i dh' inuia i so d'à mac. " Nach 'eil flilos," un' e«an, "nach fri-agair I dbl со dbiu,'» nach fhaod eibhatolrtdbi a 'toileach- adh." Clio luath 'a a chaidh a' bhrög air an urlar, leum a' bhrbg air a coll I " De 'bheir albh dhbmha'," un' lae, " 'a an M elle 'leigeil fliaicinn duibh." Rainlg 1 tigh a bliuachaille, 'a chulr urra на brbgan, '• au trusgan a »heaaadh air an lar le br 'a le airgiod. Nur a tbill i cha robh ach floa a chur air iniuietir, 'a phba i fein ¡з mac au righ.

Ann Darrocb got thia tale from Margaret Connel.

The cheat meant by the narrator of this version is clearly the kiat, which every well provided highland lass takes to servie«. Such kiste, and such lassies seated on them, may be seen in every highland steam -boat ; and still finer kiste may be seen in every cottage in Norway, where wood is more plentiful, and kisU are on a larger seule. The contents of all are alike ; tbe clothes of generations. Tbe mother's Sunday dresses, and the grandmother's, with some fine shawl, or_cap, or bonnet, or something hideous, modern, and fashionable, more prized by far than the picturesque old plaid, or bright red cloak of Scotch women, or the endless Norse coutumes, which are going out of fashion in the same way. The little bird's note is imitated, and I havo tried to spell the speech in English.

2d. I heard a version of this in tbe island of South Uist, in September 1859, from my companion MacCraw, -who got •it from a girl then in the inn at the Sound of Benbecula,

THE KINO WHO WISHED TO M Л lilt Y HIS DAUGHTER.

M.IRAII л СЯСТА Г.ПАШ. Margery White Coati. A king bad four daughter), and his wife died, and he B«id he would marry any one whom hie dead wife'a clothes would fit. One day the danghten tried, and the youngest only could wear them. The king «aw them from a window, and wished to marry her, and she went for ndvioo to her 'mother'* brother. He advised her to promise to mnrry the king if he would bring her a gown of bird«' down, and A gown of the colours of the sky, woven with silver ; and when he got that, a gown of the colours of the stars, woven with gold, and glass shoes. When he bad got them, she escaped with all her clothes, by the help of her uncle, on a filly, with a magio bridle, she on one side, and her chest of clothes on the other. She rode to a king's palace, bid the chest in a hill under a bush of rashes, tamed the filly loose, and went to the palace with nothing on bnt a white petticoat and a shift. She took service with the cook, and grew dirty and ugly, and slept on a bench by the kitchen fire, and her work was .to blow under the great cnldron all day long. One'.day the king's son came home, and was to hold a feast ; she went to the queen and asked leave to go, aud was refused because she was so dirty. The queen had a basin of water in her hand, and threw it at her, and it broke. She went to the hill, took out the dress of down and silver, and shook her mngio bridle ; the filly came, and she mounted, and rode to the feast. " The king's son took her by the hand, and took her up as high at any there, and set her on bis own lap ; and when the feast was over, there was no reel that he danced bat he gave it to hrr." He asked her whence she came, and she said, from the kingdom of Broken Basins ; and the prince said that he bad never heard of that land, though he had travelled far. She escaped and retained to the cook, and all were talking about the beautiful lady. She asked about her, and was told not to talk about what sbo did not understand, " • dirty little wretch like her." Then the prince hod another feast ; and she askod leave again, and the queen refused, and threw a candlestick at her, and it broke, and she did as before. She put on another dress and went ; the king's son had eight men on each side of the door to catch her. The same scene went on, and she said she came from the country of Candlesticks—" TIR или COIL- UUBAI," and escaped, leaving a glass shoe. Then the king's son

220 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

fell rick (of coarse), and would only marry the woman whom the shoe would fit ; and all the ladies came and cut off their toee and heels, but in vain. Then he asked if there wee none other. Then a small creature put hie head in at the door and laid, " If thou didit but know, ehe whom thon aeekeit is under the cook." Then he got the history of the basin and candlestick from bit mother. The shoe was tried and fitted, and he was to marry llortig. All were in despair, and abused her ; but she went ont to her chest, shook the magio bridle, and arrayed herself, and camo back on the filly, with a " powney" behind with the cheet. Then all there that had despised her fell on their knees, and she was married to the prince. " And I did Dot get a bit there at the wedding," said the girl.

This was told as we walked along the road, aad is but a short outline of what was told me, written from notes made in the evening. The man said that the girl told it with a great deal of the queer old language, which he could not remember.

The girl and her chest on the same horse may bo seen in the Highlands. The girl, in her white coats and short gown, may be seen blowing the fire in highland inns, the qneen's likeness might be found ; and the feast is a highland ball ; the filly and the magio bridle are common in other stories ; the incidents of the bunin and candlestick have an equivalent in Norse ; and I got them from a woman at the Sound of Barra afterwards, in an. other story. This shows what may be lost by dignified travelling. While the man was enjoying himself in the kitchen, the employer was smoking in solitary dignity, up stairs in his bed-room, writing a journal, and utterly unconscious that the gamo he pursued was so near.

I have other versions of this tale from other sources, and may find room for them hereafter.

The beginning is clearly the same as the French story of " Peau d'Ane," and the end of it is the same as the Norse " Katie • Wooden Cloak ;" that is the same as Mr. Peter Buchan's " Rashen ./.Coatie" (MSS. collection); and that again has something of "The Sharp Grey Sheep" in Qaolio ; and that has to do with half a dozen stories in Grimm ; and this is like " Cinderella,1' and like a Scotch story, quoted in a review of Chambers' Nursery Rhymes in Tail's Edinburgh Magazine.

THE KINO WHO WISHED TO HARRT HIS DAUGHTER. 227

la fifteen volume« which I explored one fine day, to «ее if Tait could account for highland stories, I found few popular tale« ; and of these taken from the German, which I did find, I have found none in the weit, ко far as I can remember. Tait'i stories are polished, but in some of the original poetry legends can be traced.

"Finette Cendron," in the collection of the Contesse d' Aulnny, belongs to the same class ; and the story exists in Stra- parola, a book which is now тегу little known, and which de- serres to be forgotten, but which contains useful information nevertheless. Those who hold that popular tales are derived from books, will look on Straparola's story as the original. It was printed at Venice in Italian in 1567, that is 293 years ago. Those who hold that popular talcs are preserved in all countries, and in all languages alike, will bold that the Italian, German, French, Norse, English, and Gaelic, are all Tenions of the same story, and that it is as old at the common stock from which all these races sprang.

After working for a year, and weighing all the evidence that has come in my way, I have come to agree with those who hold that popular tales are generally pure traditions ; but in order that others may judge, I give the following short outline of the story in Straparola. Favola {т.

Tobaldo, prince of Salerno, promises to his dying wife, that he will only marry another, if he can find one whom a certain ring will fit. After a time the promise becomes known, and it is noised abroad that the prince wishes to marry again. Ladies: come ; but the ring is too small for one, too large for another, and fits no one. One day, Uornlice, the daughter of Tebaldo, tries on her mother's ring, and shuws her father that it fits, and then the same strange unnatural wish to marry his daughter seizes the Prince of Salerno that seizes the fathers in the French and Oaelic stories, and caused the Cenci tragedy ; but the French and Gaelic stories have something about dresses, which the Italian has not.

Doralice goes to her old nurse for advice, and hides herself in a wardrobe which none could open from without but the nnrwi, who puts in a supply of a certain liquor of which к spoonful, however small, would keep я person alive for я long time. The wardrobe is described, and it is such a one as would be found in

WEST HIGHLAND TALKS.

an Italian palace. The father, having missed the daughter, cannot abide the sight of the wardrobe, orders it to be carried to the piazza by servant*, and it is sold to a Qenoese merchant. He carries it over sea in a ship to Britannia, and there sells it to the king " Oenese."

Here let me remark that the form of the popular tale was exactly the same as it is now, nearly three hundred years ago. The scene is laid somewhere, a long way off; the names are those which the narrator happens to know, misapplied ; the ornaments are those about him ; and the incidents, within a certain range, are preserved entire. The story is an old play, with new scenery, and decorations in every country, and with fresh actors in every age.

King Genese of England comes on board the ship, and is taken with the beauty of the wardrobe, buys it, und bus it taken to his own chamber. Tho hidden lady comes out when she is loft alone, adorns the chamber, sweeps it and keeps it neat, and at last the is discovered, and the king marries her.

And here the Italian story goes off on quite a different road. It does as popular tales seem to do everywhere else. No sooner has a seeming origin been discovered for one bit, than the whole changes into something else. It is as if some convulsion were to overturn the Vatican, and break the statues once more, and some future antiquary were to try to fit the heads, legs, and arms to the proper bodies. The head of Apollo would not do for the Torso Farnese, but it might seem to fit some strapping Venus, and her arms might go on to some Apolline ; and so, when only a few fragments of popular tales areknown, it is perfectly hopeless to try to restore them. If all the fragments of all the statues in the Vatican were gathered together, then there might be some hope of mending them ; but some are strongly suspected not to wear their own heads even now. If all the fragments of all the popular tales in the world were gathered, something might be reconstructed ; but, unless each collector is content to bring his gatherings without alteration, the restorer will havo bard work.

But to return to Straparola. The king marries the beautiful lady who keeps his room so tidy in so mysterious a manner, and they have two sons. The wicked Tebaldo, wandering over the world in disguise, arrives in Britain, knows bis daughter, obtains

THE KINO WHO WISHED TO HARRT HIS DAUGHTER. 229

access to the palace, morden the two cbildren, and leave« • bloody knife in the Queen'» possession. An astrologer il consulted, telli that the knife will be found, and it is found in the Quern's keeping ; and ehe il to die. The astrologer, who knowi everything, goei off to the old nnrte, who comes at once to England, and tells the king all that has happened. Tcbaldo it caught, and torn to pieces by four horses, and his flesh given to rabid dogs.

So end the wicked in many Gaelic tales. " He was torn between horses, burned amongst fires, and his ashes let fly with the wind," is the end of one.

The French story, " Peau d'Ane," is in " les Contes des Fées de Charles Perrault," the wicked father was sent for " Bobes," "Conleur du temps,'' " Couleur du soleil," " Couleur de la Lune," and got them ; and then for a donkey's skin, in which the lady disguised herself. But then the French story goes off on another road, for the donkey was prêtions and magical, and pieces of gold were found in his stall ; and he belongs to another class of stories, which have Gaelic relations. (Perrault died 1703).

And so popular tales are woven together in a network which seems to pervade the world, and to be fastened to everything in it. Tradition, books, history, and mythology, bang together ; no sooner has the net been freed from one snag, and a mesh gained, than another mesh is discovered ; and so, unless many hands combine, the net and the contents will never be brought to shore.

XV. THE POOR BROTHER AND THE RICH.

From Flora Maclntyre, May.

ПЛНЕЕЕ was a poor brother and a rich brother be- J- fore now. The work that the poor one had, was to be at drains ; he hired a gillie, and they had nothing with their mealtime but to take it without sauce. " Hadn't we better," said the gillie, " steal a cow of thy brother's lot 1" They wont and they did this.

The rich brother was taking a notion that it was they who stole his cow ; and he did not know in what way he could contrive to find out if it were they who stole her. He went and he put his mother-inflow in a hist, and ho come to seek room for the hist in his brother's house ; he put bread and cheese with the urouo in the kist ; and there was a hole in it, in order that she might find out everything. The gillie found out that the crone was in the kist ; he wetted sacks and threw them on top of the hist; the water was streaming out of the sacks on the crone, and she was not hearing a word. He went, in the night, where the crone was, and he said to her, " Was she hearing?" "I am not," said she. "Art thou eating a few 1" " I am not." " Give me a piece of the cheese, and I will cut it for thee." He cut the cheese, and ho stuffed it into her throat till she was choked. The kist was taken home, and the dead crone in it They buried the crone, and they laid out but little on her.

THE POOR Л ROTH ER AND THB RICH. >3 I

In the night, said the poor man's gillie to his master, " Is it not lamentable that such and such linen should go with the crone to the cell,* while the children aro so much in want of shirts I" He went, and he' took a spade with him, and he reached the churchyard. He dug the grave, and he took the crone from the coffin ; he took off her the taie dress, he threw her on his back, and he came to the house of the rich brother ; he went in with her, and he placed her seated at the fireside, and the tongs between her two feet When the maid servant rose in the morning, she fell in a faint when she saw the crone before her. The rich brother thrashed his wife because of her mother saving, " that she was about to bring him to bare ruin." He went to the house of hie poor brother and told that the crone had come home. " Ah ha I " said the gillie, " because thon didst not spend enough on her living, thou wilt spend it on her dead ; I saw the like of this before ; thou must lay ont a good deal on her."

They bought a good lot of things for the funeral, and they left the ono half of it in the house of the poor brother and they buried the crone again. " Is it not lamentable," said the poor brother's gillie to his master, " that such a lot of linen should go on the crone, while thou art so much in want of a shirt thyself 1" He went to the cell that night again, he raised the crone, he took off her the tais clothes, and he took her with him on his back ; he went into the house of the rich brother, as was usual, and ho set the crone standing at the end of the dresser, with her claw full of soode from the dish of sowens, as if she were eating it When the man of the house saw her back in the morning, he thrashed his wife soundly, because of her • " KILL," cell a «mall church ; hence applied to church-jardi.

232 WEST HIGHLAND TALE&

mother. He went then to the house of his poor brother, and he told that the crone had come home again. " Aha I" said the gillie, "because thou didst not spend money on her living, thou wilt spend it on her dead ; I saw the like of this before." " Go thou, then, and lay out a good deal on her, for I am tired of her," said the man. He bought a good lot for the crone's funeral, and he took the one half to his master's house. They buried the crone. In the night, said the gillie to his master, " Is it not lamentable that such linen should go with the crone to the cell, while I myself am in such want of a shirt" He took himself to the cell, he raised the crone, he took off her the tais dress, he put her on top of him, and he reached the rich brother's house. He did not get in this journey, so he went with her to the stable, and he tied her on top of a year-old colt When they rose in the morning, they were well pleased when they did not see the crone before them. He was going from home ; he went out to the stable, and he took the mare with him ; but he never perceived that the crone was on top of the year-old. When he went away on top of the mare, after him went the year-old with the crone clattering on top of him. He turned back when he saw the crone, and lie was like to kill Ms wife this time. He went to hie brother's house and he told that the crone had come back again.

" As thou didst not spend money on her living," said the gillie, " thou must spend it on her dead."

" Go and lay out as thou wilt on her," said he to the gillie, " but keep her away."

He went this time and he bought a good lot for the crone's funeral, and he invited every one in the place. They buried the crone again ; and the poor brother was as wealthy as the other, by reason of the funerals.

UnSOEUL. 133

ÜRSOEUL.

1 IIIA brathalr bochd agua brhthair beairteach inn rolnh« >o. 'S« 'n obalr a bh' aig an fbear bhochd a bhl deanadh dhralntan. Dh' fhaidaldh • gill«, '« cha robb mir аса l« am biadh ach 'g» 'ghabliail tor. " Nach fhearra dhuinn," nn' an gill« ; " bb dcchnid do bbrathar aghoid." О1Г fholbh iad agus rinn iad so. Bha'm brathair beairt- •ach a' gabball amharali gnr h-lad a ghold a' bhö, '• cha robb fhioe aige de 'n dolgh a dhèanadh e air faotalnn a mach an iad a ghold i.

Dh' fholbh « 'a choir • 'mhathair cbc'ile ann an rinde, 'a thainlg • dh' iarraidh mm de 'n chlade ann an tigh a bhralhar. Chair « aran i> cala« lela a' chaiUich anns a' chiade, 'a bha toll um, air alt go' mochada bw do na li-uile gnothnch. Mhothaich an gill« gun robb a' chailleach anna a' chlade. Fhlinch • »ale, la thilg e air muinn na clad' iad. Bha 'n t-ui-pe 'arnthadh aa na aaic air a' challlich, 'a cha robh I 'clninntinn amid. Chaidh • anna an oidhche far an robh a* chaUleach, 'a thuirt с rithe an robh 1 clninntinn. " Cha 'n Vil," on* i w. « Am ЫмЛ thu 'g itheadh a' bheag ?" " Cha 'n 'dl." • Thoir dhbrahu ploaa de 'n chkiae 'a gearraldh ml dbnlt «." Gbearr • 'n eaiae, 'a dhlnn « 'na mnineal • gua an do thachd « L Cbaldh a* chiad« 'thoirt dacliaidh, 'a a' challliach marbh innte. TMolalc lad a' chailU •ach, 'a cha d' rinn iad acli со»<1да b«ag urra, Anna an oidhche lliuirt gill« an fhir bhochd r'a mhalghatlr, « Nach dtflaneach a Irithld alod d« dh' anart a dhol lela a' challUch do 'n chill, 'a clio feumall '§ a tha na phiedcan ab lelntean."

Dh' fholbh • 'a thng e lela «pad ; rainig • 'n clagb ; ohladhaich • 'n oalgh ; thng • 'chaUleach aa a chiate-luidh ; Ihng « dhl an t-aU-aod- ach ; thilg « air a mhutnn l ; 'a thalnig « gn tigh a' bhrathair bhrairt- •ach. Chaidh • atigh leatha, 'a choir e i 'na aaidhe aig a' ghealbhan, 'a an clotha eadar a da chola. Ñor a dh' élrídh an aearbhanta anna a' mhaidinn thuit i ann am paiaranadh. Dur a chnnnaic i 'ctuilleach rolmpe. Ghabh am brathair bearteach air a' bhean airaon a mathar ag radh gnn robh I brath a agrios. Chaidh e go tigh a' bhrathalr bhochd, 'a dh' innia e gnn d' thainig a' chailleach dhachaldh. "A ha t * ora' an gille, " O nach do choad Uro r'a beb • coadaidh tha r'a marbh e I Channale mía* lelthid ao roimhid. Feomaidh ta caedaa math a dhaanadh orra."

Cbeannakh iad cold mhath de ghnothokhean almn an tbrraUh, 'a dh' fhag iad an dama lelth dheth ann an Ugh a' bhrathair bhochd. ThWaic iad a' chaUleach a rithiad. « Nach däaneach," ana gilb

>34 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

'bhnthtir bhochd r'a mbaighstir, " « lelthid »iod do dh' unart a dhol air a' challlich, 's cbo feumail 'a a tlia thu (Vin air leine."

Cbaidh e do 'n chill an oidhche »in a rithisd. Tbog e 'chailleach, 'a thug e dhitb an Uais-aodacli, 'a thug e leis air a' mhuinn L Cbaidh e stigh do thigh a1 bhrkthair bbeairtich mar a b' abhaist, 's chair e 'chailleach 'na «easamh aig ceann an dresseir, '9 a crog Ian do chaith aa an t-aoitheach cbabhracli, mar gum biodh i 'ga itlieadh. Nur a chunnaic fear an tighe air a b-ala i anna a mhaidinn, gbabh о air a bhean gu li-iomlan ainon a mathar. Chaidh e 'n sin do thigh a' bhrathar bhochd, 'a dh' ¡nula e gun d' thainig a* chailleacb dhach- aldh a rithlad. " A ha I " un' an gille, '• O nach do choad thu r'a beb e, coadaidh thu r'a marbh u." Chunnaic miae 'leilhid во roimhid, " Folbh thusa mata 'a dean coadaa math urn cbionn tha miae agHh dhi."

Cbeannaich e cuid mhath thun tbrradh na caillicb, 's thug e 'n darna leith thun Ügh a' mhaighatir. Thlolaic iad a' chailleacb. Anna an oidhche un' an gille r'a mhalghatir, " Nach dé~ianeacb a' leithid aiod do dh' anart a dhol tola a' chaillicb do 'n chill, 's mi fein cbo feumail air léine." Thug e 'chill air; thog e chailleacb ; thug e dhi an t-als-aodach ; choir e air a mbuinn i ; 'a rainig e ugh a' bhrathar bheairteach. Cha d' fbualr e atigh ah* an t-aiubhal во. Chaidh e leatha do 'n stàbull, 'a cheangail e i air muion bliadhnach eich. Nur a dh' eiridh iad 'a a' mhaidinn bha lad gu toilichte, nur nach fhac iad a' cbailleacb romhpa. Bha eaan a1 dol o' n tigh. Chaidh e mach do 'n atabull, 'a thug e leb an capulí, ach cha do mhothaich e gun robb 'chailleach air muinn a bhliadhnaich; nur a dh' flmlbh esan air muinn a chapuill, aa a dheigh a bha 'm bliadhnach, 'a a' chailleach a' glaigeileia air a mhuinn. Thill e air ala nur a chunnaic e chailleach, 'a theab a bhean a mharbbadh air an uair so. Chaidh e do thigh a' bhrathar, '( dh' innia e gun d' thainig a* chailleach dliachaidh a rith- iad. "O nach do choad thu r'a boo e," ara' an gille, "feumaidb tu 'choad r'a marbh." " Theirig agua dean do rogha coedus rithe," an' eaan ria a' ghille, " ach cum air folbh i." Chaidh e air an t- aiubhail ao agua cheannaich cuid mhath airson tbrradh na caillich 'achnirle gach dulne bha'aan kite. Thlolaic iad a* chailleach a rithisd, 'a bha 'm bràthair bochd cho bealrteach ria an (bear eile air tailleabb nan torradh.

One Jamea MacQueen, who lived at Tirneagan, near Kit- meny, but who ia not living now, gave thia to one Flora Mac- Intyre, at Kiluieny, who told it to Hector MacLean.—May 1869.

UR8QEÜL. »35

This story is not like any other that I know. It is one of • kind which it common, in which mortals alone play a part. Some are humorous, and some free. One such has been versified by Allan Натклу, page 520, vol. 2 ; and is nearly the samo ai Tom Totherhouse, the Norse tale.

The expensive fanerai was once truly highland ; and the invitation to all the world characteristic. It need to be told of one such funeral party, that they dropped the coffin ont of a cart on the way over a strand, and never found it out till they got to the churchyard. They returned and finished the funeral, but went home afterwards тегу drunk ; the sons shouting " Horo 1 it's the oarlin's wedding." The funeral dinner was within my memory, and still may be, a solemn feast. Such touts as " Comfort to the distressed," and " The memory of the deceased," were drank in solemn silence ; and the whole matter was conducted with gravity and decorum, but with profuse and necessary hospitality, for the funeral guests had often to travel great distances, and the coffin had to be carried many miles. No Highlander, if his friend* can help it, is buried anywhere but at home ; coffins may be seen on board the steamers, conveying to the outer islands the. bodies of those who have died on the main land. It is a poetic wish to be buried amonpnt friends, and one that is in full force in the Highlands to this day. The cune of Scotland may occasionally intrude even on inch solemn occasions ; bat a fanera) is almost always decorously conducted. In some places, as I am told, • piper may still be seen at the head of the funeral procession, playing a dirge. There is no want of reverence, but death if treated as an ordinary event. I have seen a man's tombstone, with a blank for the date, standing at the end of his house, while he was quite well.

It was lately said of a man who went home to die, " He took his own body home ;'' and so he did.

There is something mythological about the old woman who will not rest, because enough has not been laid ont on her fanerai. It may be «orne remnant of a notion of purgatory ; but I suspect it is something heathen.

Romans had to pay their paasage, perhaps Celts had to do so likewise.

XVI.

THE KING OF LOCHLIN^ THREE DAUGHTERS.

From Neill Gillies, fisherman, near Inverary.

rpIIERE was a king over Lochlin, once upon a time, * who had a leash of daughters ; they went out (on) a day to take a walk ; and there came three giants, and they took with them the daughters of the king, and there was no knowing where they had gone. Then the king sent word for the .sheanachy, and he asked him if he knew where his lot of daughters had gone. The eheanachy said to the king that three giants hod taken them with them, and they were in the earth down below by them, and there was no way to get them but by making a ship that would sail on sea and Jand ; and so it was that the king set out an order, any one who would build a ship that would soil on sea ami on land, that he should get the king's big daughter to marry. There was a widow there who had a leash of sons ; and the eldest said to his mother on a day that was there, " Cook for me a bannock, and roost a cock ; I am going away to cut wood, and to build a ship that will go to seek the daughters of the king." His mother said to him, " Which is better with thee, the big tlwmnock' with my cursing, or a little bannock with my blessing Г " Give me a big

THE KINO OF LOCHLIN'S THREE DAUGHTERS. 237

bannock, it will be small enough before I build a ship." He got a bannock and he went away. Ho arrived where there was a great wood and a river, and there he sat at the side of the river to take the bannock. A great Uruisg came out of the river, and • she asked a part of the bannock. He said that he would not give her a morsel, that it was little enough for himself. He began cutting the wood, and every tree bo cut would be on foot again ; and so he was till the night came.

When the night came, he went home mournful, tearful, blind sorrowful His mother asked, "How went it with thee to-day, son I" He said " That it went but black ill ; every tree I would cut would be on foot again." A day or two after this the middle brother said that he himself would go ; and he asked his mother to cook him a cake and roast him a cock ; and in the very way as happened to his eldest brother, so it happened to him. The mother said the very same thing to the young one ; and he took the little bannock. The Uruisg came, and she asked a part of the cake and the cock. He said to her, "That she should get that" "When the Uruisg had eaten her own share of the coke and of the cock, she said to him "That she knew what had brought him there as well as he himself, but he was to go home ; but to be sure to meet her there at the end of a day and. year ; and— that the ship would be ready at the end.

It was thus it happened : At the end of a day and a year the widow's young son went, and he found that the Uruisg had the ship floating on the river, fully equipped. Ho went away then with the ship, and a leash of gentlemen, as great as were in the kingdom, that were to marry the daughters of the king. They wore but a short time sailing when they saw a man

2)8 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

drinking a river that was there. He asked him, " What art thou doing there 1" " I am drinking up this river." " Thou hadst better come with me, and I will give thee meat and wages, and better work than that" "I will do that," said he. They had not gone far forward, when they saw a man eating a slot in a park. " What art thou doing there V said he. " I am here going to eat all the stots in this park." " Thou hadst better go with me, and thou wilt get work, and wages better than raw flesli." " I will do that," said he. They went but a short distance when they saw another man with his ear to the earth. " What art thou doing there Î" said he. " I am here hearing the grass coming through earth." " Go with me, and thou wilt get moat, and better wages than to be there with thy ear to the earth." They were thus sailing back and forwards, when the man who was listening said, " That this was the place in which were the king's daughters and the giants." The widow's son, and the three that had fallen in with them, were let down in a creel in a great hole that was there. They reached the house of the big giant " На ! ha 1 " said he, the giant, " I know well what thou art seeking here. Thou art seeking the king's daughter, but thou wilt not get that, unless thou hast a man that will drink as much water as I." He set the man who was drinking the river to hold drinking against the giant ; and before he was half satisfied the giant burst Then they went where the second giant was. " Ho, hoth ! ha, hath !" said the giant, " I know well what sent thce here ; thou art seeking the king's daughter ; but thou shalt not got her, if thou host not a man who will eat as much flesh as L" He set the man who was eating the stot to hold the eating of flesh against the giant ; but before he was half satisfied the giant burst

THE KINO OF I.OCI1UN1 I THREE HAUCHTE 118. 239

Then he went where the third giant was. " Haio I " eaid the giant, " I know what set thee here ; hut thou wilt not get the king's daughter, by any means, unless thou staycst ;i d.-iy ami л year by me a sgalag" (slave, servant). " I will do that," said he ; and he sent up in the basket, first the three men, and then the king's daughters. The three great men were waiting at the mouth of the hole till they should come up, and they went with them where the king was ; and they told the king that they themselves had done all the daring deeds that there were.

When the end of a day and year had come, ho said to the giant, " That lie was going." The giant said, " That ho had an eagle that would set him up to the top of the hole." The giant set the eagle away with him, and five stote and ten for a meal for her ; but the eagle went not half way up through the hole when she had eaten the stots, and she returned back again.

Then the giant said to him, " Thou must remain by me another day and year, and then I will send thee away." When tho end of thia year came he sent the engle away with him, and ten stote and twenty. They went this time well further on than they went before, but she ate the stole and she turned back. "Thou must," said the giant, " stay by me another year, and then I will send thee away." The end of this year came, and the giant sent them away, and three score of stote for tho eagle's meat ; and when they were at the moutli of the hole the stote were expended, and she was going to turn back ; but he took a steak out of his own thigh, and he gave this to the eagle, and with one spring she was on the surface of the earth.

At the time of parting the eagle gave him a whistle, and she said to him, " Any hard lot that comes on thee, whistle and I will be at thy side." He did not

140 WEST ШОЕ LAND TALES.

allow his foot to stop, or empty a puddle ont of his shoe, till he reached the king's big town. He went where there was a smith who was in the town, and he asked the smith if he was in want of a gillie to blow tin! bellows. The smith said that he was. He was but a short time by the smith, when the king's big daughter sent word for the smith. "I am hearing," said she, " that thou art the best smith in tho town ; but if thou dost not make for me a golden crown, like the golden crown that I had when I was by the giant, the head shall be taken off tliee." The .smith саше home sorrowfully, lamentably ; and his wife asked him his news from the king's house. "There is but poor news," said the smith ; " the king's daughter is asking * that a golden crown shall bo made for her, like the crown that she had when she was under the earth by the giant ; but what do I know what likeness was on the crown that the giant had." The bellows-blowing gillie said, " Let not that set thee thinking ; get thou for me enough of gold, and I will not be long making the crown." The smith got of gold as he asked, with the king's order. The gillie went in to the smithy, and ho shut the door ; and he began to splinter the gold asunder, and to throw it out of tho window. Each one that came tho way was gathering tho gold, that the bellows lad was hurling out Here, then, he blew the whistle, and in the twinkling of an eye the eagle came. "Go," said he to the eagle, "and bring here the golden crown that is above the big giant's door." The eagle went, and she was not long on the way, and the crown (was) with her. Ho gavo the crown to the .smith. Tim smith went so merrily, cheerily with the crown where the king's daughter was. " Well then," said she, " if I did not know that it could not be dono, I would not believe that this is

TUE KINO OF LOCnLIN B THREE DAUGHTERS. г4 I

not the crown I had when I was with the big giant." The king's middle daughter said to the smith, " Thou wilt loose the head if thou dost not make for me a silver crown, like the one I had when I лгав Ъу the giant." The smith took himself home in misery ; but • his wife went to meet him, expecting great news and flattery ; but so it was, that the gillie said that he would make a silver crown if he could get enough of silver. The smith got plenty of silver with the king's order. The gillie went, and he did as he did before. He whistled ; the eagle came. " Go," said he, " and bring hither hero to mo, the silver crown that the king's middle daughter had when she was by the giant."

The eagle went, and she was not long on the journey with the silver crown. The smith went merrily, cheerily, with the silver crown to the king's daughter. " Well, then," said she, " it is marvellously like the crown I had when I was by the giant." The king's young daughter said to the smith that he should make a copper crown for her, like the cop- jxsr crown she had when she was by the giant The smith now was taking courage, and he went home much more pleasantly this tura. The gillie began to splinter the copper, and to throw it out of each door and window ; and now they were from each end of the town gathering the copper, as they were gathering the silver and gold. He blew Urn whistle, and the eagle was at his side. " Go back," said he, " and bring here hither to me the copper crown that the king's young daughter had when she was by the giant." Tho eagle went, and she was not long going and coming. He gave the crown to the smith. The smith went merrily, cheerily, and he gave it to the king's young daughter. " Well, then !" said she, " 1 would not believe that this was not the very crown that I had

2 42 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

when I was by the giant underground, if there were a way of getting it" Here tlio king said to the smith, that he must tell him where he liad learned crown making, " for I did not know that the like of thee was in the kingdom." " Well, then," said tho smith, " witli your leave, oh king, it was not I who made the crowns, but tho gillie I have blowing tho bellows." " I must see thy gillie," said tho king, " till ho makes a crown for myself."

The king ordered four horses in a coach, and that they should go to seek the smith's gillie ; and when the coach came to the smithy, the smith's gillie was smutty and dirty, blowing tho bellows. The horse gillies came, and they asked for the man who was going to look on the king. The smith said, " That was ho yonder, blowing the bellows." " Oov ! oov ! " said they ; and they (set) to catch him, and throw him head foremost into tho coach, as if they had a dog.

They went not far on their journey when he blew the whistle. The eagle was at his side. " If ever thou didst good for me, take mo out of this, and till it full of stones," said lie. Tho eagle did this. Tho king was out waiting on the coach ; and when the king opened the door of the coach, he was like to be dead with tho stones bouncing on top of him. There was catching of tho horse gillies, and hanging them for giving such an affront to the king.

Hero tho king sent other gillies with a coach ; and when they reached the smithy, " Oov ! oov ! " said they. " Is this the black thing tho king sent us to seek ? They caught him, and they cast him into the coach as if they had a turf peat But they went not far on their way when he blew the whistle, and the eaglo was at his side ; and ho said to her, " Take me out of tliis, and fill it with every dirt thou canst

THE KINO OP LOCnLIN в THREB DAUGHTERS. 243

get" When the coach reached tho king's palace, the king went to open the door. Each dirt and rubbish fell about the king's head. Then the king was in a great rage, and he ordered the horse gillies to be hanged immediately. Here the king sent his own confidential servant away ; and when he reached the smithy, he caught the black bellows-blowing gillie by the hand. " The king," said he, " sent me to seek thee." " Thou liadst better clean a little of the coal off thy face." The gillie did this ; he cleaned himself well, and right well ; and the king's servant caught him by the hand, and he put him into tho coach. They were but a short time going, when he blew tho whistle. The eagle came ; and he asked her to bring the gold and silver drees that was by the big giant here without delay, and the eagle was not long going and coming with the dress. He arrayed himself with tho giant's dress. And when they came to the king's pataco, the king came, and lie opened tho door of the coach, and there was the very finest man the king ever saw. The king took him in, and he told the king how it happened to him from first to lost The three great men who were going to marry the king's daughters were hanged, and the king's big daughter was given him to marry ; and they made them a wedding the length of twenty nights and twenty days ; and I left them dancing, and I know not but that they are cutting capers on the floor till the day of to-day.

8CECLACHD AIR NIOHEANAN HIGH LOCULAINN.

Впл rtgh air Lochlainn »on uiir »ig an robh triair nigheanan. Chaidh lad a mach latha ghabhtil «raid, agus thainig trt famhaiiran. '« thug iad l*o nigbeanan an rtgh, 'i cha robh fio« c'ait« an deach iad.

г44 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

Chulr an rtgh floi an sin air an t-aeanachaidh aige, 'i dh' fhebr- aich e dheth, "An robh flat aige c'aite an deach а chuid nigh- еапап?" Tliuirt an aeanachaidh ría an righ gu 'n d-thug tri famh- airean leo lad, ague gun robh lad anni an talamh ga h-iosal аса, '« nach robh dóigh air am faotuinu, ach le long a dheanamha aheoladh air muir '» air tir." Agua 'se bhu'nn gun do chuir an righ brdugh a mach, " Co air bith a thogadh long a ghebladh air rouir 's air tir, gu' faigheadh e nighean mlior an righ ri phbsadh." Bha bantrach an sin aig an robh tribir mhac, ague thubhairt am fear 'bu ibine ri 'inliiithair latha bha 'n »in, " Bruicli dhbmhsa bonnich '• rui-t coil- each ; tha mi faibli a ghearrudh collie 'a a thogail loag, a theid a dh' iarraidh nigheanan an righ." Tliuirt a mhhthair ría, " Co'ca i' fearr Icat am bonnach miir le m' mballacbd na 'm bonnach beag le m' bheannachd." " Tlioir dhbmhaa 'm bonnach mbr ; bilhidh e beag na leöir inn 'n tog mi long." Fbuair e 'm bonnach 'a dh' flialbh e, Kainig e fnr an robh coille mhbr agua abhuinn. Shuidh e an sin ri taobh na h-abhunn a ghabhail a' bhonnnlch. Tlminig hruiag mhbr a much a» un abbulnn, agua dh'iarr 1 piiirt do 'n bhonnach. Tliubh- airt eaan nach u" tbugadh e mir dhi, gun rubh e beag na lebir dha fcln. ThbUich e air gearradh na coille, 's na li-uile craobh a ghoarr- adh e, bhiudh i air a bonn a rithiat; 'a bha e mur «in gu> an d' thiiinig an oidhcbe. Nuair a thainig an oidhche, chaidh e dhach- aidh dubhach, deurach, dalla-bhrbnach. D1 fboighnichd a mhathair dlieih, " lie mar a chaidh dhuit an diugh, a mhic." Thubhairt esan, nach deach ach gu dubh dona " Na h-uile craobh a ghearrainn, bhiiMlh 1 air a bonn a rithiat." I-atha na dhh an d¿igh so, thubhairt am brbthair meadhonach, " gu' fallihadh e fl»<in, '• dli' iarr e air a и li.и hair, bonnach a bhruich s' coileach a rbstadh ; ague air a' cheurt dbigh mar thai-hair d'à bhrhthair a bu thine, thuchair dhîuan. Thubhairt a mhhthair a' cheart ni ría an fliear bg, agus ghabh e 'm bounach heap. Thiiinig an uruiig, a' dh'iarr i pairt do 'n blionnach s' do 'n choilearh. Thubhairt e rithe, " Gu 'm faigheadh i sin." Nuair a dh'ith an uruisg a cuid (him do 'n bhonnach 'a do 'u cboileach, thubhairt i ria, " Gun robh flos aice-ae if 'thug an aud e со maith ru flu'in, ach eaan a dhol dachaidh, ach a bhi cinnteacb ise a choinneachainn an aud an ccann latha 'a blUdbna, ague gu 'm bitheadh an long deas air a choann." 'Sann mar ao a thachair. An cennn latha 'a blladlma dh' fh.iliili mac bg na bantralch, agua Iliuair e 'n long air anamh air an abbuinn fuidh Ian uidheam aig an Uruiag. 1th' fhalbh e an ain leia un luing, aguí trihir dhaoine uníale cho mbr'aabha'aan ribghachd, a bha gu m Indium an l'i^li a phosadb. Cha robh lad ach goirid a icbl.-idh an u.ur a cbunnaic iad fear ag bl auaa abhuinn a bha 'sin

80HULACUD AIR NIGUEANAN RICH LOCRLAINN. 245

HI,' fhebraich lad dheth, " De 'tha thu deanamh an ein? * " Tha agolsuasna h-sibhne to." "'S ffarr illiuit falbh learn fh<fin,'• bbeir mi (limit biadh, 'e tuarisdal, '> obalr a'a fehrr na «in." " Ni rai sin," ara' esan. Cba deachaidh iad fad air an aghaidh gui am Гас lad fear «île лд itheadh dhamh ann am paire. " D« 'tha thu deanamh an •in 7* Thubhalrt «tan, " Tha mi 'n ю a' dol a dh' itheadh na tha dhaimh nuns a1 phaire so." " 'S fehrr dhuit falbh loam fhcln, 'a gbeibh tha obalr '• tuaraedal a'l fehrr na febil amh." •> Ni ml ein." tbubhairt wan. Cha deach lad ach goirld dar • a chunnaic lad fear eile 'sa' chlua« ri> an talamh. " De tha thu deanamh an «in ?" Thubhairt esan, " Tha mi an so a' cluintinn an fheblr a' tighinn troi 'n talamh." " Falbh learn fheln 's gheibh tha biadh'e tuaraidal a's fearr na bhl 'n sin, '• do chinas ris an Ulamh." Bha iad mar so a' aebladh air an aïs s' air an aghaidh nuair a thubhalrt am fear a bha' g elateachd, " Un 'm be sod an t-aite anns an robh nlgheanan an righ agns na famhairean." Chaidh mac na bantraich agns an triiiir a thachair orra a leigeil sios ann an cliabh, ann an toll mfir a bha 'n sin. Rainig iad tigh an fhamhair mhbir. " Ha I ha I " thuirt esan, " tha fins again go maith de 'tha thu 'giarraidh an so; tha thu 'g iarraidh nighean an righ, ach cha 'n 'fhalgh thu sin mar 'eil fear agad a dh' blas airead niege riurnaa." Chuir esan am fear a bha ag ól na h-aibhne a chumail 61 ris an fhamhair, 's man robb esan leith bhuidheach, again am famhair. Chaidh iad an sin far an robb an darna fambair. " Ho l Hothl Hat Hai h l" thubhairt am famhair, "tha flos agamsa gn malth, de chuir an so thu ; tha tha 'g larraidh nighean an rtgh, ach cha 'n fhaigh thu I mar 'ell fear acad a dh' Itbeas uiread fcola rium- aa." Chulr esan am fear a bha 'g' Itheadh nan damh a chnmail itheadh feola ris an fhamhair so : ach тип robh esan leith bhuidheach ; •gain am famhair. Chaidh lad an sin far an robh an treu famhair. " Halo l " ara' am famhair, " tha floa agamsa de chair an so thu, ach cha 'n fhaigh thu nighean an rtgh, Idir mar fan thu agamsa latha, '• blladhna ann a'd' sgalaig." * Ni ml sin," thubhairt esan. Chair e •uas ann an cliabh an toiseach na tri daolne, agos an sin nigh- eanan an righ. Dha 'n Iriiiir dhamne mbn alg benl an tuill a' feitheamh gu> an d' thigeadh iad a nib«, agos dh' fhalbh lad leo far an robh an rtgh, 's dh' innis iad do 'n righ gu 'm b' lad fein a rinn gach alle thapachd a bha ann.

"Nuair a tbainig ceann latha 's bliadhna," thubhairt esan ris am (amhair, "gun robh e 'falbh." Thubhairt am famhair, " Gun robh Bolaire aige-aan a chnireadh soas e gu mallach an toill." Chair am

ОАЖ, from an trath, the time.

2 46 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

fambalr an iolairo tir falbh lois, aguí cîiig daimh dheng air ion Ibn illii ; ach cliudcach na iolaire leith cuas trui 'n toll, muiir a Jh'iili i D* daimh, agua thill i air a h-ais a rithlst. Thubhairt am famhair ri» an «in, "Keiunaiilh tu fantainn agamsa latha 'a bliadboa eile, agua cnlridh mi 'n »In air falbh thu." Nuuir a thainig wann na bliadhna so, chuir e air fulbh an iolaira leia, agiu deich daimh f hichead. Chaidh lad air an am to gu maitb ni b' fhaide air an aghaidh, na chaidh iad roirah, ach dh'ilh 1 na daimh, '« thill i air a li-ais. " Feuma tu," ara' am famhair, " fantaiun agamia bliadhna eile, agu» an ain cuiridh mi air falbh tbu." Thainig ceann na bliadhna so, agu» chuir am famhair air folbb iad, agua tri-fichead damh air ion biailti do 'n iolaira. An uair a bha iad aig beul krd an tuill, theirig n» daimh, 'i bha i 'dal a thilleadh ; ach thug eaan atanig aa a leis fh6in, 's thug e to do *n iolaire, agoa le aon lenm blm i air uachdar talamh. Ал am deal- achaidh thug an ioUire dha feadag agua thubhairt i ris, "cruaidh- chùs aam bith a thig ort, leig fead agus bithidb mise ri d' thaol-h."

Cha do leig esan etad d'à chois na lodan из a bhrbig gus an d' rainig e baile mor an righ. Chaidh e far an robh gobhuinn a bha 'aa' bhaile, V dh' fhebraidi e do 'n gholiha, "An robU gille a Jhitli air, ainon scideadh a' bhuilg 1" Tliubhairt an gobba " uu'n robh." Cha robh e ach goirld alg a' ghobha, nuair a chnir nighean mhiir an righ rlua air a' ghobha. " Tha mi Vluintinn," ara' ise, " jur tusa gobh- ainn a'« fearr 'aa' bhaile; ach mur dean tbu dhbmhsa crun bir colt- ach ria a' chrun bir a bh' agam nuair a bba mi aig an fhamhair, théld an ceann a thoirt dMot." Thainig an gobha dhachaidh gu dubbach lirbnach, 'a dh' fholghneachd a bhean deth, dé a naigheachd a tigh an rtgh ? " Cha 'n 'eil ach naigbeachd bochd," tbuirt an gobha " Tha 'nigbean ag iarraidh crun bir a dheanamh dhi coltach ris a chrun a bha aice an uair a bha i fo 'n talamh aig an fhambair ; ach gu de 'noa a tha agamea de 'n ooalaa a bha air a' chrim a bha aig an fhamhair." Thubhairt gille aeldidh a' bhuilg, " Na cuireadh ein smaonlinn ort. Faigh tbusa dhbmhsa nia gu lebir do dh' br, '• cha bhi mise fada a' deànamh a chrhin." Fhuair an gobha na dh' iarr e dh' br le brdugh an rtgh. Chaidh an gille stigh do 'n chebrdaich, 's dhüin e 'n 'dorua, «gus thbisich e air spealgadh an bir aa a' chélle, 'aa thilgeadh a mach air an uinneig. Bha gach neach a thigeadh an ratbad a' tional an bir a bha gille a' bhuilg, a' emùideadh a mach. Shdid e 'n ю an flieadag, agua ann am prioba na ski), thhinig an iolaire. " Falbb," thubhairt eaan ria an iolaire, " agus thoir an ю an crun bir a thafoa ceann an doruia aig an fhamhair mhbr." Dh'fhalbh an iolaire, 'a cha b' fliada bha i air a turua, 'san crim alce. Tbug e 'n cran do 'n ghobhainn. Dh' fhalbb an gobhainn gu eubhach, sunnd-

8OEU LACHO AIR NIOHEAMAN RIOH I.ucilt.AINN. 247

ach tels a' chrùn far an robh nighean an rich. " Mat.i," thubhairt be, " mur b'e gum bheil fioe agam nach gabhadb e deanamh, cha chrcidinn nach в ю an criin a bha agam an nair a bha mi lein an fhamhair mhbr." Thubhairt nighean mhradhonach an rïph rii a' ghobliainn, " Caillidh tu 'n c«ann mar dean thu críin airgid dhomhsa coltach rii nn fhear a ЫГ agam an uair a bha mi aig an fhamhalr." Thug an gobha an tlgh air fo sprocbd, ach chaidh a bhean 'na choinneamh an dùil ri naigheachd mor '• broiguil ; ach 'ее ЫГ ann gun Л' thubhairt an gille, " gun deanadh paan crhn airgid, na 'm faighailh e na leiir do dh' airgiod." Fbuair an gobha ni'a leblr do dh' airgiod le brdugh an rtgh. Chaidh an gille 'a rinn • roar a rinn • roirohc. Leig e frai! ; thainig an Maire. " Fall.h," thubhairt tuai, " ago« tli .ir thugam-aa an so an crbn airgid a bha aig nighean mbudhonach an righan nair a bha i aig an fhamhair." D' flialbh •n iolaire, '• cha b' fhada bha i air a turni Ici» a' cbrbn airgid. Dh' fhalbh an gobhainn gn subhach, tunndach leia a' chrùn airgid gn nighean an rtgh. "Mata," thubhairt ut, "tha e annb.irrach coltach ris a' chrhn a bh' адат dar a bha mi aig an fhamhair." Thnbhairt nighean bg an n_-li ris a' gbobha, " £ a dheanamh criin copair dh' ¡se, coltacb ris a cbrbn cbopair a bha aicr, nuair a bha i aig an fhamhair." Bha 'n gobha an so a' gabhai) misnich, 's chaidh e dhachaidh moran ni bu toilichte air an trb *o. Thbisich an gille air «pealgadh a' chopair, 's air a thilgeadh a mach air gach dorua '< uinneag. Il lu iad an so a* gach ceann do 'n bhaile a' Uon- ail a' chopair mar a bha lad a' tionall an Ыг '« an airgtil. 8ЬМ > 'n fheadag, 'i bha 'n iolaire ri 'lhanbh. " Itach air t' ais," thubhairt «an, " agua Ihoir an ao thugamsa an crùn copair a bha aig nighean bg an rtgh an uair a bba i aig an fhimhair." Dh' fhalbh an lolaln, 's cha robh i fada Mol 'sa' tighinn. Thug « 'n crbn do °n ghobhainn ; dh' fhalbh an gobhainn gu subhach, lunnd- arh, 't thug e do nighean bg an righ a. " Mata," thubhairt iae, " cha chreidinn nach b'« *o an dearbb chrùn a bha agam an ualr a bha mi aig an fhamhair fo 'n talamh, nn'm biodh dbigh air fbaotainn." Thubhairt in r\gh an so ris a' ghobhainn, " Ou' feumadh e Innseadh dhaaan, eiil« an d'lonnsalch e deknamh пав criin, rir cha robh fin« acam gun robh do leithid '»an rioghachd." * Mata," thubhairt an gnbha, " le 'r cead, a rtgh, cha mhise a rinn na crbln, ach ал gill« 'tha agam a' sëideadh a' bbailg." " Frnmaidh mi do chill' fluirinn," thubhairt an rtgh, " gas an dean e crfan dhoinh fhi'in." Dh' brdaich an rtgh ceilhir eich ann an (coacha), 's iad a dhol a dh' larraidh gille a' ghobha. An mir a thai nig an (coacha) a dh' ionnuidh na cekrdach, blia gille a' ghobba gu dubh, aalach a' aeldeadh a' bhullg. Thainig na

248 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

gillean each, 's dh' fhebraich ¡.i.l air eon an daine a bha Mol aiheallt- ainn an пцЬ. Thubhairt BQ gobha gu'm b'e sud e thall a' «eid- .•.nlli a' bhuilg. " Ubh ! Ubb ! " thuirt iadsan, 's iad a beireachd air, 's 'ga tbilgeadh an coiuliair a chinn a «tigh don (choacha), шаг gum bitheadh cii acó. Cha deacb' iad fada air an türm dar a ahe'id e*an an fheadag. Dha 'n iolaire ri 'tbaobh. " Ma rinn thu feum riamh dhomh, thuir mue a mach as so, agus Поп e Ihn cblach," thubbairt esan. Rinn an iolaire so. Bha 'n r'igh a mach a feitheadh a chbidae, agus an uair a dh' fliosgail an righ dorus a' chfiiJ>e, tlieab e bhi mai l .h leis naclacban a' dbrtadh air a mhuin. Chaulli beireachd air na gillean each, 'san crochadh airson a leithid do tbamailt a [habhairt do 'n righ. Cbuir an righ an so air falbh gillean le cbidse, agus an uair a rainig iad a' cheardach, " Ubhl Ubh I " tbuirt ¡misan, " n'c so an rud dubh a chuir an righ sinn a dh' iarraidh." Rug iad air, 't thug iad a stigh do 'n chbida' e, mar gum bitheadh fbid inoine aca. Ach cha deach iad fada air an sligbe, nualr a elidid esan an fheauag, 's bha 'n Muiré ri 'ilmobli, 's tliubhairt e rilhe, '• Thoir mis« as a' 10, agus lion e do gliach »alachar a ghoibh l Im." Nuiiir a rainig an coidso paileU un righ, uliaidh an righ 'dh' niosgladh an dm - I'h u i t gach saluchar 's gach boggaiat mu cbcann an rigli. 11 lia fearg ro iiilinr air an righ, 's dh' brdaich e na gillean each a bhi air «n crochadh air ball. Chuir an righ a' ghille cinnteach fhe'in air falbh, agus an uair a rainig e a' chearJach, rug e air laimb air gille dubh мм. liilh a' bhuilg. "Chuir an righ," thuirt esan, "mise gu d' iarraidb s Teàrr dhuit beagan do 'n ghual a ghlanadh dbeth t' aodann." Rinn an gille so, ghbn e e fein gu maith 's gu ro inhaith, 's rüg gillo an righ air laimh air, 's chuir e stigh do 'n chbida' e. Cha robb, ¡ad ach goirid air falbh, dar a she'id e 'n flieadag. Tbhinig an Iolaire, 'a dh' iarr esan olrre an delse bir 's airgid a bha aig an fhamhair mhbr a thoirt an sud gun dhíl ; 's cba robh an iolaire fada 'dol W tighinn leis an deise. Sgeadaich esan e féin le deise an fhamhuir, 's an uair a th'ainig iad gu phileas an righ, tliMnig an righ, 's dh' fhoagail e doras a chöidae 's bha 'n tin an aon duine bu bhreagha a chunnaic an righ riamh. Thug an righ sligh e, 's dh' innis e do 'n righ mar a dh1 éirich dha fo thiis gu deireadh. Chaidh an iriuii dhaoine mora blia 'dol a phösadh nigheanan an righ a chrochailh, 's nighean mhbr an righ l habhairt dhosan ri phbsadh ; 's rinn iad batíais dhoibh fad llchead oidhche 's ficbead latha, 's dh' fliag mise a' d&nnsa iad, 's cha Veil flos ftgumsa nach 'eil iad a' cuir nan car air an urlar gus an latlia 'n diugb.

TUB KINO OF LOCHLIN'B TUIIEE DAUOHTERS. 249

Thii story was written, May 1859, by Hector Urqubart, gamekeeper, from the dictation of Neill Gilliei, a fisherman and builder of stono dykes, «ho lives near InTerary. He is no« about lift v - lu <\ nnd snys ho learned the story from his father, «ho need to tell it «hen ho «HS about sixteen or seventeen.

It has something of many other Gaelio tales. In particular, one called " Bolgum More,1' in which there are more gifted men. It has some resemblance to Fortunio ; and the part which goes on under ground resembles part of many other popular tales. The Three Giant«, with their gold, silver, and copper crowns, are like the Qnomes of the Mine. Similar Giants, ruling over metals, and living in castles made of gold, silver, and copper, are mentioned in a story from South Uist, which resemble« the Se» Maiden.

As a whole. No. 16 is unlike anything I know, but nearly every incident has a parallel woven in with something else, and it most resembles Grimm's Golden Goose.

The Enchanted Ship, which could sail on sea and land, belongs to Norse tales and to Norse mythology. The gods had such a ship.

The Eagle is peculiarly eastern : he is but a genius in another shape ; the underground treasures are also eastern ; and it is worth remark, that two of the daughters are not provided for at all. The three gentlemen were hanged, and the smith's servant married the eldest princess with the golden crown, so the two youngest remain spinsters. It is suggested by the author of None Tales, that similar incidents may show the change from Bastern to Western manners. There would be no hitch, if it were lawful to marry the three ladies in this story ; and in the Norse story of Shortshanks, it is suggested that the second brother is added, to make all things proper. In No. 22, a man marries a round do7.cn.

The clothes of these giants fit the lad, so they were but underground men.

There is the usual moral. The least becomes the greatest ; but there is a d&ah of character in the pride of the smith's lad, who will not come till be is taken by the hand by the king's own confidential servant. And this is characteristic of the race. Л Celt can be led anywhere, but he will not be driven. The king, who

250 WEST HIGHLAND TALKS.

openi Mi own coach door, is somewhat like a farmer. The coach and four is but the grandest of the vehicle« teen in the neighbourhood—one of which was compared by a friend of mine, to "a packing box upon wheel*, lined with an old blanket." In the mouth of a city narrator, it wonld have been a lord mayor's coach, and it probably was a palanquin at some time.

This »tory may be compared with "The Kg Bird Dan," Tuant Talée, No. об. Gifted men are to be found in " The Master Maid," No. 11. Such men are also in German, " How six travelled through the World ;" and, according to the notes in the third volume of Grimm, the story is widely spread, and common to Italian. i , , , t. *,.-.... . ,'.-

XVII. MAOL A CHLIOBAIN.

From Ann Mud ¡ilvray. Iiltjr.

rpHERE was a widow ere now, and she had three * daughters ; and they said to her that they would go to seek their fortune. She baked throe bannocks. She said to the big one, " Whether dost thou like best the half and my blessing, or the big half and my curse ! " "I like best," said she, " the big half and thy curse." She said to the middle one, " Whether dost thou like beat the big half and my curse, or the little half and my blessing 1 " "I like beet," said ehe, " the big half and thy curse." She said to the little one, " Whether dost thou like best the big half and my curse, or the little half and my blessing Г " I like best the half and thy blessing." This pleased her mother, and she gave her the two other halves also. They went away, but the two eldest did not want the youngest to be with them, and they tied her to a rock of stone. They went on ; but her mother's blessing came and freed her. And when they looked behind them, whom did they see but her with the rock on top of her. They let her alone a turn of a while, till they reached a peat stack, and they tied her to the peat stack. They went on a bit (bat her mother's blessing came and freed her), and they looked behind them,

2J2 WEST HIGHLAND TA LHa.

and whom did they вес but hor coming, and the peat stock on top of lier. They let hur alono a turn of а while, till they reached a tree, and they tied lier to the tree. They went on a bit (but her mother's blessing came and freed her), and when they looked beliiiul thrm, whom did they see but her, and the tree on top of her.

They saw it was no good to be at her ; they loosed her, and let her (come) with them. They were going till night came on them. They saw a light a long way from them ; and though a long way from them, it was not long that they were in reaching it They went in. What was tide but a giant's house ! They asked to stop the night They got that, and they were put to bed with the three daughters of the giant (The giant came homo, and ho said, " The smell of the foreign girls is within.") There were twists of amber knobs about the necks of the giant's daughters, and strings of horse hair about their necks. They all slept, but Maol a Chliobain did not sleep. Through the night a thirst came on the giant He called to his bald, rough-skinned gillie to bring him water. Tho bald, rough-skinned gillie said that there was not a drop within. " Kill," said he, " one of the strange girls, and bring to me hor blood." " How will I know them?" said the bald, rough-skinned gillia " There are twists of knobs of amber about the necks of my daughters, and twists of horse hair about the necks of the rest"

Maol a Chliobain heard the giant, and as quick as she could she put the strings of horse hair that were about her own nock and about the necks of her sisters about the necks of the giant's daughters ; and the knobs that were about the necks of the giant's daughters about her own neck and about the necks of her sisters ;

W AOL A СН1ЛОВЛШ. 253

and ehe laid down so quietly. The bald, rough-skinned gillie came, and he killed one of the daughters of the giant, and he took the blood to him. Ho asked for MORE to be brought him. He killed the next He asked for MORE ; and he killed the third one.

Mool a Chliobain awoke her sisters, and she took them with her on top of her, and she took to going. (She took with her a golden cloth that was on the bed, and it called out)

The giant perceived her, and he followed her. The sparks of fire that she was putting out of the stones with her heels, they were striking the giant on the chin ; and the sparks of fire that the giant was bringing out of the stones with the points of his feet, they were striking Maol a Chliobain in the back of the head. It is this was their going till they reached a river. (She plucked a hair out of her head and made a bridge of it, and she run over the river, and the giant could not follow her.) Maol a Chliobain leaped the river, but the river the giant could not leap.

" Thou art over there, Maol a Chliobain." " I am, though it is hard for thee." " Thou killedst my three bald brown daughters." " I killed them, though it is hard for thee." " And when wilt thou come again ? " " I will come when my business brings me."

They went on forward till they reached the house of a f xrmer. The farmer had three sons. They told how it happened to them. Said the farmer to Maol a Chliobain, " I will give my eldest son to thy eldest sister, and get for mo the fine comb of gold, and the coarse comb of silver that the giant has." " It will oost thee no more," said Maol a Chliobain.

She went away ; she reached the house of the giant ; ehe got in unknown ; she took with her the combs, and out she went The giant perceived her, and after

WEST HIGHLAND TALCS.

hur he was till they reached the rivor. She leaped the river, but tho river the giant could not leap. "Thou art over there, Mool a Chliobain." " I am, though it is hard for thee." "Thou killedst my three bald brown daughters." " I killed them, though it is hard for thee." " Thou stolest my fine comb of gold, and my coarse comb of silver." " I stole them, though it is hard for theo." " When wilt thou come again 1" " I will come when my business brings me."

She gave the combs to the farmer, and her big sister and the farmer's big son married. " I will give my middle son to thy middle sister, and get me the giant's glave of light" " It will cost thee no more," said Maol a Chliobain. She went away, and she reached the giant's house ; she went up to the top of a tree that was above the giant's well In the night came the bald rough-skinned gillie with the sword of light to fetch water. When he bent to raise the water, Maol a Chliobain came down and she pushed him down in the well, and she drowned him, and she took with her the glavo of light

Tho giant followed her till she reached the river ; she leaped the river, and the giant could not follow her. " Thou art over there, Maol a Chliobaiu." " I am, if it is hard for thoo." " Thou killcdst my three bald brown daughters." " I killed, though it is hard for thee." " Thou stolest my fine comb of gold, and my coarse comb of silver." " I stole, though it is hard for thee." " Thou killedst my bald rough-skinned gillie." " I killed, though it is hard for thee." " Thou stolest my glavo of light." " I stole, though it is hard for thee." " When wilt thou come again I" "I will come when my business brings me." She reached the house of tho farmer with tho glave of light ; and her middle sister and the middle son of the farmer

МАО], Л Г] II.ЮН Л IN, 255

married. " I will give thyself my youngest son," said the farmer, "and bring me a buck that the giant has." " It will cost theo no more," said Maol a Chliobain. Sho went away, and she reached the house of the giant ; but when she had hold of the buck, the giant caught her. " W but," said the giant, " wouldst thou do to me ; if I had done as much harm to thee as thou host done to me, I would make thee burst thyself with milk porridge ; I would then put thee in a pock ; I would hang thee to the roof-tree ; I would act fire under thee ; and I would set on thee with clubs till thou shouldst fall as a faggot of withered sticks on the floor." The giant made milk porridge, and he made her drink it She put the milk porridge about her month and face, and she laid over as if she were dead. The giant put her in a pock, and he hung her to the roof-tree ; and he went away, himself and his men, to get wood to the forest. The giant's mother was within. When the giant was gone, Maol a Chliobain began—" 'Tie I am in the light ! 'Tie I am in tho city of gold I" " Wilt thou lot mo in 1" said the carlin. " I will not let thee in." At last she let down the pock. She put in the carlin, cat, and calf, and cream-dish. She took with her the buck and ehe went away. When the giant came with his men, himself and his men began at the bag with the clubs. The carlin was calling, " "1'is myself that's in it" " I know that thyself is in it," would the giant say, as he laid on to tho pock. The pock came down as a fuggot of sticke, and what was in it but his mother. When the giant saw how it was, ho took after Maol a Chliobain ; he followed her till she reached tho river. Maol a Chliobain leaped the rirer, and the giant could not leap it " Thou art over there, Maol a Chliobain." " I em, though it is hard for thee."

J 56 WEST И If! III.A NI) TALES.

" Thou killodst my three bald brown daughters." " I killed, though it is hard for thea" "Thou stalest my golden comb, and my silver comb." " I stole, though it is hard for thee." " Thou killedst my bald rough-skinned gillie." "I killed, though it is hard for thoa" " Thou stolest my glave of light" " I stole, though it is hard for thee." " Thou killedst my mother." " I killed, though it is hard for thea" " Thou stolest my buck." " I stole, though it is hard for thee." " When wilt thou come again Г " 1 will como when iny business brings ma" " If thou wort over here, and I yonder," said the giant, " what wouldst thou do to follow me 1" " I would stick myself down, and I would drink till I should dry the river." Tlio giant stuck himself down, and he drank till he burst Maol a Chliobain and the farmer's youngest sou married.

MAOL Л СПЫОВЛШ.

Вил balnnteach aim rolmbe go, 's bha tri nigheanan alee, 's thuirt lad rltlie gun racliadli lad a illi' iarraldli an fhortuin. Dheoaolch I tri bonnaicli. Thuirt i ría an to mhoir, " Co'ca 'a fhehrr lent, an leith tlicag 'i mo bheannachd, uu'n leith mhor 'a mo mhollaclid?" "'S fhehrr learn," un' bo, " an leith niliur 'a do inhullachd." Thuirt I ris an to mheadhonaich, " Co'ca is fhearr leat an leith mlibr '» mo mhollachd na'n leith bheag 's mo bheannachd 1 " " 'S fbeàrr learn," un' lee, " an leith mhbr 'a do mhollachd." Thuirt i ris an to bhifd " Cb'ca it fhearr leat an leith mhbr 'a mo mhollochd n'an leith bhrag 's mo bheannachd ?" 'S fhearr learn an leith bheag 'в do bheannachd. Chord so r'a mhthair, '» thug i dhi an da leith eile cuideachd. Dh' fliolbh lad, ach cha robh toil aig an dithisd a bu shine an t«? b' bipe 'bhl leb, 'a cheangail Jad i ri carra cloiche. Ghabh eud air an aghaidh, 's nur a dh' amhairc iad as an deigh, со a chunnaic iad ach ige, 'l a' chreag air a main. Leig iad leatlia car treis gus an d' rainig

M AOL A OHLIOBAIN. «57

lad crunch mhbnadh, 's cbeangail isd i ri» à' ehrnaich mhbnadh. Gnabh bul tir an aghaidh trels, 's dh' amhalre lad 'nan déigh, 'я со а chunnaic lad ach IM a' tighinn, 'a a' chruach mhbnadh air a main. Leig lad leatha car tacan gua an d' rainig iad craobh, 's cbeangail lad rii a' chriobh L Gbabb lad air an aghaidh treia, 's nor adh' ambairc lad 'nan délgh, со a chunnaic lad ach IM a' tighinn, 's a' chraobh air a mnin. Chunnaic lad nach robh math a bhlth rithe. Dh' fhuaag- ail iad I, 's lig iad leo I. Bha iad a' folbh gui an d'thainig an oidhche'orra, Chunnaic lad aolus fada uatha, '• ma b'fhadt u>tha cba b'fhada.'a bha ladean 'ga 'ruigheacnd. Chaldh iad a atigh. Do" a bha 'to aeb tigh famhair. Dh' i»rr iad fuireachd '«an oidhche. Fbnairiad sin, 'i chuireadh a Uidhe lad le tri nlgheanan an fhamhair.

Bha caran de chnenpan ombair ma mhuinealan nlgheanan an fhamhair, agus areanganan gaoiaid ma'm muincilaan. Chaidil lad air fad, ach cha do cliaidil Maol a' chliobain. Feadh na h-oidbcbe thainig paghadh air an fhamhair. Ulilaoidb e r'a ghille maol carrach nlage tboirt a 'lonnanidh. Thuirt an gille maol, carrach, nach robh deur a ttigh. " Marbh," ure' eaan, " te de na nlgheanan coimheach, '• tlioir a m' ionntoidh a full." " Demur a dh' aithneachas mi eatorra ?" on' an gille maol, carrach. " Tha caran de chneapan ma mhuinealan mo nigheananaa, '( caran gaoiaid ma mhuineil chaich." Cbuala Maol a' chliobain am famhair, 'a cho cli» '• a b'urralnn i, chnlr i na •reangannan gaoisid a bha ma 'mulneal fain 'a ma mhuineail a peath- raichcan ma mholneil nightanan an fhamhair, ague na cneapan a > bha ma mhuineil nigheanan an fhamhair ma 'muineal fein, 'a ma mhuineil a peathraichcan, 's laidh i «loa gn earn hach. Tbainlg an gille maol carrach, 'a mharbh e té de nlgheanan an fhamhair, 'a thug e'n fhuil a'ionnsuiilh. Dh'larre tuillidh t thoirt a'ionnsuidh. Mharbb e an ath IЛ Dh' ¡air e tuillidh, '» mharbh e 'n treaa te. Dhiiiag Мао) a' chliobain a peathralchean, 'a thug i leath' air a mum iad, 'a ghabh i air folbh. Mhothaich am famhair di, 'a lean e i.

Na ipreadan Uine a bba 1м cur at na clachan le a »àiltr»n, bha iad a' boaladh an fhamhair '«an amigead ; 'a na ipreadan Urine a bha 'm famhair a' toirt at na cinchan le barraibh a chat, bha lad a' bualadh Mhaol a' chliobain an ciil a' chinn. *"Se ю a bn dual daibh gaa an d'rajnig lad obhainn. Learn Maol a chliobain an nbhainn, a cha b'urrainn am famhair an obhainn a leum." " Tha thn thall a Mhaol a ehllobaln." « Tha ma 'a oil leat a." " Mharbh thu mo thri nlgheanan maola, ruagha." " Mharbh ma 'a oil leat e." * '8 cuin a thlg thn 'rithlad Г « Thlg nor* bbeir mo ghnothach mi."

* NUB, from on tmA, or т шаг, the time. 8

258 WEST 11 lull LAN n TALES.

Qhtbh lad air an aghaidh gu« an d' rainig Ud tigh tuathanikb. liha lig un tuathanach tri inic. Oh' ¡onU iad mar athachair dhaibb. Un' an tuatbanach ri lUol a cliliobain, " llheir mi mo mbac is aine do 'd' phiutbar ii line, '» faigli dhomh clr шЫи bir '< cir gharbh airgid a th* aig an fhamhair." "Cha chotd e tuillidh dtiuit," una Мао) а chliobain. Dli' fbolbh i, '» rainig i tigh an fhamhair. Fhuair i »tigh gun fbloa. Thug 1 leatlia na urean, '• ghabb l 'mach. MUothaich «m fainliair di ; ia at a «Iciih a bha e gu* an d' rainig e 'n obhainn. I лит IM an obhainn, 'acha b'urralnnam famhair an obhainn alcom. "Tha tliu thall a Mhaol a cbliobain." " Th* ma'* oil leat e." 14 Mharbh tbu mo thri nighesnan maní«, ruaglia." "Mharbh ma'< oil lent e. Ghold tbu то ch'ir niUn Ыг 'а то chir gharbh airgid. " " Ohold та'* oll leat e." "Cuin a tbig tbu 'rithiad?" "Thig nur bbelr то Khnothach ml."

Tbug l na clresn thun an tuatbanaicb, 'a phbs a piuthar mh6r 't пае mor an tuathanaich.

" Bheir ml mo mhac meadbonach do d' phiuthar mheadhonach, '9 f*lgh dhomh cUidlieamh »olim an fhainhair." " Cha chosd e tuillidh dhuit," uraa Maol a chliobain. Qhabh i air folbh, 's rainig i tigh an fhamhair. Chaidh l '«uus ann am bbrr craoibh' a bha as cionn tobar an fhamhair. Anna an oidhclie thàinig an gille maol, carrach, 's an claldlieamh soluii lela, a dh' iarraidh uisge. Nur a chrom e 'thogail an uinge thainig Maol a chliobain а nuu, 's phut i slos 'san tobar e,'s bhath l », 'ithug i leatha an claidheamh soluiad. Lean am famhair i gua an d' rainig l an obhainn. Leum i an obhainn, 's cba b'urrainn am famhair a leanlainn. "Tha Ihu thall a Mhoal a chliobain." «Tb* та'* oll leat«." "Mbarbh t Im то thri nigheanan maula, rnagha." " Mharbh та'* oll leat c." " Ghoid Uta то ciar тЫп Ыг '* то chir gharbh airgid." " Ghoid ma's oil leat о." " Mharbh tlia mo frhillu nmol, carrai'h." " Mhnibh in*'* oil Ivat c." " (¡hoi.I tlia mo chlalilb- aamli aoluis." " Ghoid ma's oil loat e." " Cuin a thig tbu 'rithiad." "Thignnrbhcirmoghnothaclimi." Rainig i tigh an tuatb- anaich leis a' chlaidheamh sholuis, 's phbs a piuthar mheadhonach, '* mac meadhonach an tuathanalch.

" liheir mi dhult fein mo mhac is bige," urs' an tnathanach, 's tlioir am' lonnsuidh, " Hoc a tha aig an fhambair." " Cha chosd e tuillidh dhuit," ursa Maol a' cbliobain. 1ИГ fholbh i 's rainig i tigb an fhuinh- air, ach nur a bha grcim aie' air *' bhoc rug am famhair urra. " De," urs' am famhair, " a dheanadh thus' ormsa na'n deanainn uibhir coir' nrt 's а rinn thus' ormsa." " Bheirinn ort gu 'sgaiueadh thu thu f<:in le brochan baume ; cbuirinn an sin ann am рос' thu ; chroch- ainn thu ri drtom an tighe ; chuiriun teine fodhad ; 's ghabhoiun

M AOL Л CI ПЛОИЛ I S. 259

duit le cabair gui an tniteadh t lui 'd' chual ehrionaich air an orlar. Rinn ara famhalr brochan bainne, '• thngr ure' ol. Chuir ise am brochan bainne ma' beul '» ma h-âod»m, '« luidh i «cachad mar gam biodh I marbh. Chuir am famhair am рос' i, 'a chroch e i ri drtom an tight, '• dh' (bolbh e (fin '» a dhaoioe « dh' iarraidh flodh do 'n choille. Bha mathair an fhamhair a stigh. Tbeireidh Maní a' chliobain nur a dh' fbolbh am famhair, " 'S miM a tin ann 'tan t-sblaa 's mise a tha nun '•a' chathair oir." " An leig thu mis' ann," urs' a' chailleach. " Cha leig gu dearbh." Ma dheireadh leig i 'nuas am poca ; chuir 1 stigh a* chailleach, is cat, is laogh, is soitheach nachdair ; thug i leatha am hoc ; 's dh' fholbh 1. NUT a thtinig am famhair thbisieh e fein 's a dhaoine air a' phoca leía na cabair. Bha 'chailleach a' glaodbach, " 'S ml frin a iir ann." " Tha fins agam gur tu fc*in a th' ann," thelreadh am famhair, 's e 'g élridh air a' phoca. ThAinlg am poca 'nuas 'na chual rhrtonaicb, 's dd 'bha ann ach a mhathair. Mur a ehunnaic am famhair mnr a bha, thug e as délgh Mhaol a' chliobain. Lean e i gui an d rhlnlg [ 'n obhainn. Lcum Maol a' clilinlmin an obhainn, s cha b'urrainn am famlialr a lenrn. "Tha thu ihall a Mhaol a chlinbain." * Tha ma 's oil leat ч." " Mharbh thu mo thri nigheanan maola, ruagha." " Mharbh ma 's oil leat e." " Ghoid Uiu mo cMr nib i PI bir 's mo chlr gharbh airgid." " Ghoid ma 's oil leat e." " Mharbh thu mo ghille maol, carrach." " Mharbh ma 's oil leat e." " Ghoid thu mo chlaidheamh soluisd." " Ghoid ma 's oil leat e."

* Mharbh thu mo mhathair." " Mharbh ma 's oil leat e." " Gboid thamobhoc." " Ghoid ma 's oil leat e." " Coin a thig tha rilhlsd."

* Thlg nur bhcir mo ghnotluch mi." " Na'm biodb tliuu bhos 's mise Ihall," nrsa am famhair, " de 'dheknadh thu ainon mo leantainn?" " 'Stopainn mi fein, 's dh' blainn RUS an traoighinn an obbainn." Stop am famhair e fein, 's dh' Ы e gus an do agkinn с Phös Maol a chliobain mac ög an tuatbanaich.

This itorj came to me from fonr aonrcei. First, the one which I Ьате translated, into which итега! passages are intro- dnoed (in brackets) from the other renions. This was written down \>J Hector MacLean.

3d. A Tersion got bj the same collector from Flora Macin- tjre, in Isla; ; receded June 16, 1859. In this the whole of the first part is omitted ; it begins at the giant's house. The incidents are then nearly the same till she runs away, when she leaps the rinr with her sisters under her arms. The farmer or king is omitted. She retaros, is caught bj the giant, tied to a

2 60 WEST 11 ЮН LAN D TALES.

peat-stack, and a rock, which ehe lake« away, and the makes the giant kill ; the three cropped red girli : and the kill« the cropped rough-skinned gillie : she steals the white glare of light, a fiue comb of gold, and a coarse comb of silver. She makes the giant kill his mother, and his dog and cat enticed into a sack ; at lost she sets the giant to swill the river ; he bursts, and she goes home with the spoil. The hit about the sack is worth quoting. She put the crone in the pock, and a cat, and a dog, and a cream-dish with her. When the giant and his men came, they began laying on the pock. The crone cried out, " It's myself thou hast ;" and the giant said, " I know, thou she rogue, that it's thou.'' When they would strike a stroke on the dog, he would give out a SOOL ; when they would strike a stroke on the cat, he would give out a moo ; and when they would strike a »troku on the cream-dish, it would give out a BTEALL (a spurt). I have,

3rd. A version тегу prettily told, at Easter 1859, by a young girl, nursemaid to Mr. Robertson, Chamberlain of Argyll, at In- verary. It was nearly the same as the version translated, bat had several phrases well worth preservation, some of which will be found in brackets ; such as, " but her mother's blessing came and freed her." The heroine also stole a golden cover off the bed, which called out ; and a golden cock and a silver hen, which also called out. The end of the giant was thus : At the end of the last scolding match, the giant said, " If thon wert here, and I yonder, what wouldet thou do ?" " I would follow thee over the bridge,1' said she. So Mnol a chliobain stood on the bridge, and she reached out • stick to him, and ho went down into the river, and she let go the stick, and he was drowned. " And what became of Maol a chliobain Ч did she marry the farmer's youngest son ? " Oh, no ; she did not marry at all. There was something about a key hid under a stone, and a great deal more which I cannot remember. My father did not like my mother to he telling us such stories, hut she knows plenty more,"—and the lassie departed in groat perturbation from the parlour.

The 4th version was got by John Dewar from John Craw- fort, horring-Gsher, Lochlonghead, Arrochar, and was received on the 2d of February 1860. Dewar's version is longer than any, but it came too Ute. It also contains some curious phrases

MAOL A OHLIOBAIN. 20 I

which the others hare not got, tome qnecr old Qaelic words, and some new adrentnrea. The heroine was not only the youngest, but "maol carrach" into the bargain, and the rest called her Maol a Mboibean ; but when they went on their travels she chose tho little cake and the blessing. The others tied her to a tree, and a cairn of stones, which she dragged away. Then they let her loose, and she followed them till they came to a burn. " Then the eldest sister stooped to drink a draught from the burn, and there came a small creature, named Bloinigain, and he dabbled and dirtied the barn, and they went on. The next barn they came to the two eldest sisters stooped, one on each •ide of the burn, to drink a draught ; bat Bloinigain came and he dabbled and dirtied the burn ; and when they had gone on another small distance, they reached another burn ; and the youngest sister, whom the rest used to call Maol a Mhoibcan, was bent down drinking a draught from the burn, and Bloinigain came and stood at the side of the burn till she had drank her draught, and the other two came ; hat when they stooped to drink their draught, Bloinigain dabbled the barn, and they went on ; and when they came to another burn, the two eldest were almost parched with thirst. Maol a Mhoibcan kept Bloinigain back till the others got a drink ; and then she tossed Bloinigain heels nv.T head, OAB A MHUII/TBAR, into • pool, and he followed them no more."

This Bloinigain plays a great part in another story, sent by Dewar; acd his name may perhaps mean " fatty;" BLOHAO, fat, suet, lard ; Bu>nnoKAif-QABAiDH, is spinnage.

The next adventure is almost the тегу same. The giant's three red-haired polled daughters had ГАГОШВАНАЯ of gold about their necks (which word may be derived from pater, and a name for a rosary), and the others had only strings.

When they flvd they came to a great BAS, cataract, and " there wa« no way of getting отег it, unless they could walk on two hairs that were as a bridge across the cataract ; and their name was DaocHiin AH DA КОШАО, the two-hair bridge ; and Maol • Mhoibean ran over the eas on the two hairs ; but her sister* could not walk on the two hairs, and Maol a Mhoibeau had to torn back and carry her sisters, one after one, отег the eas on the two-hair bridge." The giant could not cross, and they scolded

202 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

etch oilier torosi the river as in the other eterice. The giant •bouted, " Art thon yonder, Maol a Mboibean ?" and she said " AIK MO KODÁIO TUA ;" end when she had told her deeds, she laid, " I will come and go as my business brings me ;" and the three sisters went on and took service with the king.

This two-hair bridge over the fall may possibly be a doable rainbow ; many a timo liavo I «at and watched such a bridge over a fall ; and tho idea that the rainbow was the bridge of spirits, is old enough.

" Still seem as to my childhood's sight

A midway station given. For happy spirits to alight

Betwixt the earth and heaven."

Tho Norse gode rode over the bridge, Bif-raust, from earth to heaven ; and their bridge was the rainbow which the giants could not croes. There is also a bridge, a« fine as a hair, over which the Moslem pass to Paradise ; and those who are not helped, fall off and are lost.

The sisters took tcrvice ; one was engaged to sew, the other to mind the bouse, and the youngest said she was good at running errands ; so at the end of a day and year she was sent for the ginnt's CADIIBAH full of gold, and CAUIIBAN full of silver ; and when she got there tho giant was asleep on a chest in which the treasure was.

" Then Maol a Mhoibean thought a while, in what way she should get the giant put off tbo chest ; but she was not long till she thought on a way ; and she got n long broad bench that was within, and she set the bench at the side of the chest where the giant was laid ; she went out where the burn was, and she took two cold stones from the burn, and she went in where the giant was, and she would put one of the stones in under the clothes, and touch the giant's skin at the end of each little while with the stone; and the giant would lay himself back from her, till bit by bit the giant went back olT the chest on to tho bench ; and thon Maol a Mhoibean opened the cbest, and took with hor the cabhran of gold, and the cabhran of silver." The rest of the adventure is nearly the same as in tho other versions ; and the oldest sister married the king's eldest son.

MAOL A CHLIOBAIN. 263

The next wu the Claidheamh Geal Soluis, white glare of light.

She got in and sat on a rafter on a bag of salt ; and as the giant's wife made the porridge, she threw in salt. Then the giant and his son sat and sapped, and as they ate they talked оГ how they would catch Mao], and what they would do to her when they had her ; and after supper they wont to bod." Then the giant got тегу thirsty, and he called to his son to got him a drink ; and in the time that the ginnt's son was seeking а ССМАЯ (cap), Мяо! а Mhoibean took with her the fill of her SOUIHO (skirt) of salt, and she stood at the outside of the door ; and the giant's son said to him " that there was no water within ;" and the ginnt said " That the spring was not far off, and that he should bring in water from the well ;" and when the giant's son opened the door, M .ml a Mboiboan began to throw salt in his faco ; and ho said to the giant, " That the night was dark, and that it waa sowing and winnowing hailstones (оия вопв AN оюпснв ПОИСКА AOUS CD« s' CABRADR OLACH-A-MBALLAiN AM) ; and the giant said, " Take with thee my white glare of light, and thon wilt see a great distance before thee, and a long way behind thee."

When the young giant came out, it was a fine night ; and he went to the well with the bright sword, and laid it down beside him ; while he stooped to take up the water, Maol followed him, and picked np the sword, and SOUIM I A'N СВАЯМ, she whisked the head off the giant's son. Then came the Bight and pursuit, and escape, and scolding match, and the second son of the king married the second sister.

The next adrenture was the theft of Boc СЬШОИАЯАСН, the belled buck. She went orer the bridge and into the goats' house, and the gnnts began at BBUCHDAICH, roaring ; and the giant said, " Maol a Mhoibean is amongst the goats ;" and he went out and caught her ; and he said, " What wouldst thou do to me if thou ihouldst find mo amongst thy goaU, as I found theo ?" And she •aid, " It il (this) that I would kill the best buck that I might bare, and I would take out the paunch, and I would put thee in the paunch, and I would hang tbee up till I should go to the wood ; and I would get clubs of elder, and then I would come home, AOUS SHI.AC AI»H oo BAI TRO, and I would belabour thee to death.'1 " And that is what I will do the«," Mid the giant

264 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

Then cornea the bit which is common to several other atones, in varioua shapes ; and which is part of a story in Straparola.

When ehe was hung up in the goat's paunch, and the giant gone for his elder-wood clubs, Maol a Mhoibean began to aay to the giant'a wife, " Oh I it's I that am getting the brave eight ! Oh I it's I that am getting the brave sight !" as she swayed heraelf backwards and forwards ; and the giant's wife would aay to her, " Wilt thou lot me in a little while?" and Maol a Mhoibean would say (I will) not let (thee in) сил I.EIUII, and so on till the wife was enticed into the paunch, and then Maol took th« belled buck and went away with him. " Aons AN DAIB А' в

ÁIB1) 18В В' ULE BA8ÂN, в' AN MUAIR А В1 A1BD АВЛН B' ISLE I8B ¡"

and the time she was highest he was lowest, and the time be was highest she was lowest, till they reached the two-hair bridge. The giant came home and belaboured his wife to death, and every blow he struck, the wife would say, " IB HI FHBIN A TIIA ANN, o s HI PHEIH A TIIA ANN—It is myself that ia in it : Oh ! it is myself that is in it ;" and the giant would say, "I know it ia thyself that ia in it.1'

[And in this the giant is like the water-horse in another story, and like the cyclop in the Odyasey, and like all other giants throughout mythology. He was a great, strong, blundering fool, and his family were as stupid as himself.]

Maol married the king's third son, and the king said, "There is one other thing yet of what the giant has that I want, and

that ¡B, A eOIATII BIIALLABMREAO A (¡US A IHIOlllt В A DIl'dBLACH—

his lumpy bumby shield, and his bow and his quiver, or in poetical language, his variegated bossy shield, and his bow and quiver —and I will give thee the kingdom if thou wilt get me them." This is a good instance of what may happen in translating Qaelio into English, one language into another, which ia far removed from it, both in construction and meaning. BHALABBEBAO applies to almoat anything that is round or spotted. The root of the epithet is BALL, which, in oblique cases, bocomea IHIAI.I,, vail, and meana a spot, a dot, and many other things. It is the ваше aa the English word ball. A shield was round, and covered with knobs ; a city wall was round, and it was the shield of the town ; an egg was round, and the shell was the shield or the wall of the egg ; a skull is round, and the shield of the brain, aud a head a

MAOL A OHU01I.MN. 163

The next was the Claidheamb Goal Soluis, white glare of light.

She got in and sat on a rafter on a bag of salt ; and ai the ginnt's wife made the porridge, the threw in «alt. Then the giant and hii son sat and supped, and as thej ate they talked of how they would catch Maol, and what they would do to her when they had her ; and after supper they went to bod." Then the giant got тегу thirsty, and he called to his son to get him a drink ; and in the time that the giant's son was seeking а сипли (cup), Maol a M hoibcan took with her tho fill of her вошно (skirt) ni salt, and she stood at the outside of the door ; and the giant's son said to him " that there was no water within ;" and the giant said " That the spring was not far off, and that he should bring in water from the well ;" and when the giant's son opened the door, Maol a Mboibean began to throw salt in his face ; and ho said to the giant, " That the night wa* dark, and that it was sowing and winnowing hailstones (оом воин ля OIDIIOHB DOUCHA лоия COR «' глвнлон оьлсн-л-мял1л.л1я ля) ; and the giant said, " Take with thee my white glare of light, and thon wilt see a great distance before thee, and a long way behind thee."

When the young giant came out, it was a fine night ; and be went to the well with the bright sword, and I ml it down beside him ; while he stooped to take np the water, Maol followed him, and picked np tho sword, and souuw i л'я гвляя, «lie whisked the head off the giant's son. Then came the flight and pursuit, and escape, ami scolding match, and the second son of the king married the second sister.

The next adTcntnre was the theft of Вое сыповлялсп, the belled buck. She went отег the bridge and into the goats' house, and the gnntJi began at яшосяплгси, roaring ; and the giant said, " Maol a Mhoibean is amongtt the gnat« ;" and he went ont and caught her ; and he said, " What wonldst thon do to me if thou shonldit find me amnngtt thy gnat*, a« I found the« 7" And ihe said. " It is (thi<) that I would kill the best buck that I might hare, and I would take not th« paanch, «nd I would pit the« In the paunch, and I wonld bans; the« np till I «boold go to the wood ; and I wonH get clubs of elder, and then I would coro« home, лог» SITLAC л«я no »»» тяп. and I wonld belabour the« to death.'1 " And that is what I will do the«," said the giant.

a64 WEST HIGHLAND T.U.I».

Thon comee the bit which ii common to several other stories, in various ahupen ; and which is part of a utory in Straparola.

When she was hung up in the goat's paunch, and the giant gone for his elder-wood clubs, Maul л Mhoibean began to say to the giant's wife, " Oh I it's I that am getting the brave sight ! Oh ! it's I that am getting the brave sight !" as she swayed herself backwards and forwards; and the giant's wife would say to her, " Wilt thou let me iu a little while ?" and Maol a Hhoi- bean would say (I will) not let (tbee in) сил LEIGH, and so on till the wife was enticed into the paunch, and then Maol took the belled buck and went away with him. " Линз AK илш ж1 в

Â1BO 181 В' »LE «ASAN, •' AN MI Allí À В1 AIE!) ASAN b' 19LE 18E ;"

and the time she waa highest he was lowest, and the time he was highest she was lowest, till they reached the two-hair bridge. The giant came home and belaboured his wife to death, and every blow he struck, the wife would say, "is HI FMEIK А ТПА лик, о в m riiKiN A TUA ANN—It is uiysclf that is ¡и it : ОЫ it is myself that is in it ;" and the giant would say, " I know it is thyself that is in it.1'

[And in this the giant is like the water-horse in another story, and like the cyclop in the Odyssey, and like all other giants throughout mythology, lie was a great, strong, blundering fool, and his family were as stupid as himself.]

Mao) married the king's third son, and the king said, "There is one other thing yet of what the giant has that I want, and that is, A SOIATII DIIALLADIIKEAO АНПЗ А шиши в A DII'OBLACH— his lumpy bumby shield, and his bow and his quiver, or in poetical language, his variogatoil bossy shield, and his bow and quiver —and I will give thce the kingdom if thou wilt get me them." This is a good instance of what may happen in translating Gaelic into English, one language into another, which is far removed from it, both in construction and meaning. ВНАЬАВНВЖАО applies to almost anything that is round or spotted. The root of the epithet is BALL, which, in oblique cases, becomes un AI.L, voll, and means a spot, a dot, and many other things. It is the same as the English word ball. A shield was round, and covered with knobs ; a city wall was round, and it was the shield of the town ; an egg was round, and the shell was the shield or the wall of the egg; a skull is round, and the shield of the brain, and a head is

M AOL A. CIILIODAIN. »65

still celled a knob in Englieh slang ; a toad-stool is round,—and so this word ball Ьм giren rise to a succession of words, which at first night appear to have nothing to do with each other, and the phrase might be translated speckled wings. The epithet is applied to clouds and to many things in Gaelic poetry, and has been translated in many ways, according to the taste of each translator. Those who felt the beanty of the passages used the words which they found applicable. Those who do not, may, if they choose, search oat words which express their feeling ; and so a poem which stands on its own merit, in its own language,'is at the mercy of етегу translator ; and those who work at Gaelic with dictionaries for guides, may well be puzzled with the multitude of meanings assigned to words.

So Maol went, and the giant's dog barked at her, and the giant came out and caught her, and said he would cut her head off; and she said she would hare dono worse to him ; and " What was that?" "Put him in sack and roast him; " ю he said ho would do that, and put her in, and went for wood. She got her hand out, untied the string, and put in the dog and cat, and fled with inj arms, and the giant roasted his own dog and cat, лоиа

•ПА AM им.ч.ч АЯ 'S AB SOALAILLB AOUS AI CATE AH *B AH

SOIABHOIL—and the dog was in, and the squalling ; and the cat (was) in, and the sqnealling, and the giant would say, " FKOCB «DIT A HIS—Try thyself DOW." When he found out the trick, he pursued, and when they got to the bridge, his hand was on her back, and he missed bis step and fell into the BAB, and there he lay. And the king's son and Maol a Mhoibean were made heirs in the kingdom, and if they wanted any more of the giant's goods, they got it without the danger of being caught by the giant.

The Gaelic given in Dewar's Tersion is spelt as it came, and in somewhat Phonetic. The writer knows his own language well, but has had тегу little practice in writing it. As he spclli in some degree by ear, his phonetics bare their ralue, as they hare in his English letter giren in the introduction.

6. A gentleman at the inn at Inrerary remembered to hare heard a similar story " long ago about a witch that would be running in and nut of a window on a bridge of a single hair."

0. " Kato ill 1'ratU " is referred to in a reriew of Chamber«'

8«

166 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

Nursery Itbymcs, at page 117, rol. 10; 1863—Taifa Edinburgh Magasine. The etory ii mentioned ai told in Pciihiliiro, and веетв to be of the ваше kind ; with a bit of Cinderella, u known in the west, with the advice of the hoodie in Murchadh and Hionachag put in the mouth of a little bird— " Stuff wi' fog, and clem wi' clay, And then ye Ml carry the water away."

Theae lounda are not imitation« of any bird's note, and the Qaelic sounds are; so I am inclined to think the Gaelic older • than the low country version.

The story is well known as Little Thumb. It is much the same as Boots and the Troll, Norse Tales, p. 247. It is somewhat like part of Jack and the Bean-stalk. Part of it is like Big Peter and Little Peter, Norse Tales, p. 395 ; and that is lihe some German Stories, and like a story in Straparola. The opening is like that of a great many Gaelic Stories, and is common to one or two in Grimm.

There is something in a story from Polynesia, which I have read, in which a hero goes to the sky on a ladder made of a plant, and brings thence precious gift», much as Jack did by the help of his bean-stalk. In short, this story belongs to that class which is common to all the world, but it has its own distinctive character in the Highlands ; for the four versions which I have, resemble each other much more than they do any other of which I know anything.

XVIIa. FABLES.

1. From J. MacLeod, fishcrmau on the Laxford, Sutherland.

ONE day tbo fox succeeded in catching a lino fat goose asleep by the side of a loch, he held her by the wing, and making a joke of her cackling, hissing and fenrs, he said,—

" Now, if you had me in your mouth as I have you, tell me what you would do t"

" Why," said the goose, "that is an easy question. [ would fold my hands, shut my eyes, say a grace, and then eat you."

" Just what I mean to do," eaid Ногу, and folding his hands, and looking тегу demure, he said a pious grace with his eyes shut

But while he did this the goose had spread her wings, and she was now half way over the loch ; so the fox was left to lick his lips for supper.

" I will make a rule of this," he said in disgust, " never in all my life to say a grace again till after I feel the meat warm in my belly." C. D.

C* ' The wild gooM in the Highlands haï her true character ; ihe

i> one of the mott wary and lagacioni of bird», and a Qaelic pro- тегЬ §aji :—

Realgair thu mar a mharbhas thu Gvadh a'a Corr' a'l Crotach.

Sportsman thou, when killed thon goose, and heron, and mrlcw?

208 WEST 1IICIIILAN'li TALKS.

Погу is a corruption of a Gaelic proper name, which means, one whoso hair is of the colour of the fox " Ruadh." The fox ij called by various descriptive and other names. BÍLOAIR, he with the " BALO," bag or quiver, from which the shape of the quiver may be surmised to have resembled the foxes' brash. MADAUH RDADU, the red-brown dog. OII.LS МАЕТШХВ, the servant of Martin, or perhaps the Martinmas lad, but the true Qaelic, according to my instructor, a Lorn man, is SIOMXACH, pronounced Skuiiach, which is surely the same as.the Sanscrit S VAN, dog. SDNUU SUUNI, dog hitch.

2. From John Campbell, piper ; and many other sources lately. The fox is much troubled by fleas, and this is the way in which ho gets rid of them. He hunts about till he finds a lock of wool, and then he takes it to the river, and holds it in his mouth, and so puts the end of his brush into the water, and down he goes slowly. The fleas run away from the water, and at last they all run over tlio fox's nose into the wool, and then the fox dips his nose under and lets the wool go off with the stream.

This is told as a fact. The place where an " old grey fellow " was seen performing this feat, was mentioned by one of my informants. The lux was seen in the sea near the Caithness hub.

3. " Tha biadh a's ceol n seo," os the fox said when he ate the pipe bag.

This saying I have known from my childhood, and the story attached to it is that the fox being hungry one day, found a bagpipe, and proceeded to eat the bag, which is generally, or was till lately, mode of hide. There was still a remnant of breath in the hag, and when the fox bit it the drone gave a groan, when the fox surprised but not frightened said :—

" Hero is meat and music I"

4. From D. M. and J. MacLeod, Laxford, Sutherland. One day the fox chanced to see a fine cock and fat hen, off which he much wished to diño, but at his approach

FABLES. 269

they both jumped up into a tree. He did not lose heart, but soon began to make talk with them, inviting them at last to go a little way with him. " There was no danger," he said, " nor fears of his hurting them, for there was peace between men and beasts, and among all animale." At last after much parleying the cock said to the hen, "My dear, do you not see a couple of hounds coming across the field t "

" Yes," said the hen, " and they will soon be here."

" If that is tliл case, it is time I should be off," said the sly fox, " for I am afraid these stupid hounds may not liavo heard of the peace."

And with that ho took to his heels and never drew breath till he reached his den. G. D.

Tine fable is very well known, and is probably derired from JEaof, though the narrator did not know the fact. I give it became the authority cannot be impeached, and because equally well-known Tables are Tonnd in old Chinese books, and are supposed to be common property. This may be pare tradition, though I suspect it to be derived indirectly from some book. I myself lately told the fable oT the Monkey and the Cats, in Gaelic, to a high- lander who was going to law ; and it is impossible to be sure of the pedigree of such well-known fables.

The next two are of the same kind, and were new to me when they arrircd.

6. TOT FOX AND ТПК FOX-HUNTER.

Once upon • time a Tod-hunter liad been тегу anxious to catch our friend the fox, and had stopped all the earths in cold weather. One evening he fell asleep in his hut ; and when he opened his eyes he saw the fox sitting very demurely at the side of the fire. It had entered by the hole under the door provided for the convenience of the dog, the cat, the pig, and the hon.

270 WEST HIGHLAND TALKS.

"Oh! ho!" said the Tod-hunter, "now I have you." And ho went aud eut down at the hole to prevent Reynard's escape.

" Oh ! ho !" eaid the fox, " I will soon make that stupid fellow get up." So he found the man's shoes, and putting them into the fire, wondered if that would make the enemy move.

" I shan't get up for that, my fine gentleman," cried the Tod-hunter.

Stockings followed the shoes, coat and trousers shared the same fate, but still the man sat over the hole. At last the fox having set the bed and bedding on fire, put a light to the straw on which his jailor lay, and it blazed up to the ceiling.

" No ! that I cannot stand," shouted the man, jumping up ; and the fox taking advantage of the smoke and confusion, made good his exit.

Note by ttie Collector.—This is (be beginning of Reineke Fuclia in the Erse. I cannot get any one to write them down in Gaelic, which very few people can write. Most of the tales are got from my guide, the gamekeeper ; but I have got them from many others. C. D.

Having told this story to a roan whom I met near Oben, as a bait, I was told the following in return.—J. F. C.

0. " The fox is very wise indeed. I don't know whether it is true or not, but an old fellow told mo that he had seen him go to a loch where there were wild ducks, and take a bunch of heather in his mouth, then go into the water, and swim down with the wind till ho got into the middle of the ducks, and then he let go the heather and killed two of them."

7. THE FOX AND THE WHENa

A fox had noticed for some days, a family of wrens, off which he wished to dine. Ho might

FABLES.

have been satisfied with one,' but he was determined to have the whole lot,—father and eighteen sons,— and all so like that he could not tell one from the other, or the father from the cliililren.

" It is no use to kill one son," he said to himself, " because the old cock will take warning and fly away with the seventeen. I wish I knew which is the old gentleman."

He set his wite to work to find out, and one day seeing thorn all threshing in a barn, he sat down to watch them ; still ho could not be sure.

" Now I have it," he said ; " well done the old man's stroke I He hits true," ho cried.

" Oh !" replied the one he suspected of being the head of the family, " If you had seen my grandfather's strokes, you might have said that."

The sly fox pounced on the cock, ate him up in a trice, and then soon caught and disposed of the eighteen sons, all flying in terror about the barn.

C. D.

•

ТЫ« i« new to me, but there i« something like it in Hie Battle of the Bird«, where the wren ii a farmer threshing in a barn. Why the wren should wield the flail does not appear, bat I •appose there wai юте good гемоп for it " once apon a time."

J. F. C.

8. From John Dewar, Inreraraj, August 27, I860.

Л fox ono day met a cock and they began talking.

" How'many tricks canst thou dot" said the fox.

"Well,'1 said the cock, " I could do throe; how many canst thou do thyself?"

" I could do thme score and thirteen," said the fox.

" What tricks canst thou do ? " said the cock.

"Well," said tlio fox, "my grandfather used to shut ono oyo and give a great shout"

272 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

" I could do that myself," said the cock.

" Do it," said the fox. And the cock shut one eye and crowed as loud as over he could, but he shut the eye that was next the fox, and the fox gripped him by the neck and ran away with him. But the wife to whom the cock belonged saw him and cried out, " Let go the cock; he's mino."

Say thou " 8'в no CHOILEAOII KIIKIN A TU' ANN" (it is my own cock), said the cock to the fox.

Then the fox opened his mouth to say as the cock did, and ho dropped the cock, and he sprung up on the top of a house, and shut one eye and gave a loud crow ; and that 's all there is of that sgeuluchd.

I lind that this is well-known in the west

9. HOW THE WOLF LOST HIS TAIL.

One day the wolf and the fox were out together, and they stole a dish of crowdie. Now the wolf was the biggest beast of the two, and he had a long tail like a greyhound, and great teeth.

The fox was afraid of him, and did not dare to say a word when the wolf ate the most of tho crowdie, and left only a little at the bottom of the dish for him, but he determined to punish him for it ; so tho next night when they were out together the fox said :

" I smell a very nice cheese, and (pointing to the moonshine on the ice) there it is too."

"Andhow will you get it?" said the wolf.

"Well, stop you here till I see if the farmer is asleep, and if you keep your tail on it, nobody will see you or know that it is there. Keep it steady. I may bo some time coming back."

So tho wolf lay down and laid his tail on tho moonshine in the ice, and kept it for an hour till it was fast Then the fox, who had been watching him, ran

FABLES. 273

in to the farmer and said : " The wolf is there ; he will eat up the children,—the wolf ! the wolf ! "

Then the farmer and his wife came out with sticks to kill the wolf, but the wolf ran off leaving his tail behind him, and that's why the wolf is stumpy tailed to this day, though the fox has a long brush.

G. D.

Thii i> manifestly the same as the None story,—" Why the bear is stumpy tailed?" anu it em in ascribing a stumpy tail to the wolf. There was not time for the " Norse T Jes " to become known to the people who told the story, so perhaps this may be a None tradition transferred from the bear to the wolf. There is another wolf story in Sutherland, which was told to me by the Duke of Sutherland's bead forester in 1848. It was told in Oaelic by a fine old Highlander, who is now dead, ilis sons have succeeded him, and will probably remember this story which I quote from recollection. J. F. C.

10. BOW ТЛЕ LAST WOLF WAS KILLED IN SUTHERLAND.

There was once a time when there were wolves in Sutherland, and a woman that was living in я little town lost one of her children. Well, they went all about the hills looking for the lad, but they could not Gnd him for three days. Well, at the end of that time they gave up, but there was a young hid coming home late through a big cairn of stones, and he heard the crying of a child, and a kind of a noise, and In- went up to the cairn, and what should ho see, in a hole under a big stone, but the boy and two youug wolves with him.

Well he was frightened that the old wolf would come, so he went home to the town, and got two others with him, and in the morning they went back to the cairn and they found the hole.

Well, then, one of the lads stopped outside to т

Z74 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

\vatrh, and the other two went in, and they began to kill tin! young wolves, and they were squealing, and the old one heard them, and she came running to the place, and slipped between the legs of the lad who was watching, and got her head into the hole, but he held In-1 by the tail

" What," eaid the lad who was inside " is keeping the light from us."

Мл ВНШ8ТКА8 BUN FlONN ШТШШ FIOS AOAD.

" If the root of Fionn (or if the hairy root) breaks, tinHI wilt know," said the man outside.

Well, he held on, and the lads that were inside killed the wolf and the young ones, and they took the boy home to his mother, and his family were alive in the time of my grandfather, and they say they were never like other people.

Tliia ¡e manifestly the вате ai the story of Komulus and Remua, but it appears on very strong evidence that wolves really carry off and suckle children in Oude now, and that these children grow up to be half savages. It is either a fact in natural history, ni u tradition, believed to be a fact in Sutherland and in Uude. I have heard thu same story told in the Highland» of a wild boar, but thu boar's tail would be but a slippery hold. J. F. C.

According to Innés (Scotland in the Middle Ages, Pp. 125), in 1283, there was an allowance for one huntor of wolves at Stirling; and there were wild boars fed at the King's expense in 1263, in Forfarshire. There are plenty of wolves now in Scandinavia, and in Brittany, and wild boara in Germany, and elsewhere in Europe. The Gaelic names for welfare MADAUH, ALLUIDH, commonly used ; FAUL CDD, ALLA MIIAUADH, all of which are composed of an epithot, and a word which nuw moans dog. Die. etc. МАО тшк, Earth's Son ; FAOL, Armstrong.

A Boar is TOKO, CDLLACH, FIADII CUULLACH.

The Fox appears as a talking creature in several stories. Se does the Bear in No. IX., and the Wolf and Falcon, No. IV. I'll.' Dog appears in No. XII. ; the Sheep, Cat, Cock, Goose, Dog,

FABLES. 27$

ud Ball, in No. XI ; the Frog in No. XXXIII ; the Cet ud A» Mouse in No. XLIX. The lUt and the Lion, and the DOT«, appear in a story to which I have referred in No. IV. Other creatures, alio, not mentioned in etorien, are gifted with speech, bat their ipeech il generally but a translation of their notes into Gaelic.

11. Bi GLIO, Bi G Lie, Bee Oleechk, bo wien, say the Oyster-catchers, when a stranger comee near their báñate.

12. GÖRACH, GÓRACR, Qawrarh, " silly," Bays the Hoodie, as he site on a hillock bj the way side and bows at the passengers.

13. Here is another bit of crow language,—a conversation with a frog. When it is repeated in Gaelic it can be made absurdly ffke the note« of the creature«.

" Ghille criosda mhic Dhughail cuir a nios do mhag.

Ghille criosda mhic Dhughail cuir a nios do mhag."

Christ's «errant» son of Dugald, put up thy paw.

" Tha eagal orm, tha eagal orm, tha eagal orm."

liée.

" СЬеаЪЬ the cote gem •'• leine. Gheibh thu cota tnrm a'i leine."

Thou «halt hare a blue coat arid a ehirt.

Then Vbe frog put up hie hand »nd the hoodie took him to a h;!I'x.k and began V/ eat him, sayi/i^

" Btan dona lorn ! 's bo dona riabh Uiu."

B«d be* nwasi and bad wert Икт cree.

M Caito ЬЬя! do gbeallAdh nath • nkf" «aid tbe ** wi*»rr* it t/.r v*A yrjCiOK Ufjw t"

" bwLii ьу 'j. » o;~» шил au boil» аш. Ьыш ag oí а 1л* кг.в ав

276 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

It is drinking we wero on that day.

" Toi ort a rniil ghrannda gur beog foola tha air do chramhan."

"Toi ort I" said the hoodie.

A hole in thoe, ugly thing I how little flesh is on thy bones.

Why the frog is culled Gilchriet MacPugald, unless the story was inailu to fit some real event, I do not know. The story used to be told by an old Islay man, Donald Macintyre, to Hector Mac- bean ¡ and I remember to bave heard part of it in my childhood.

Tbe Hoodie has appeared in many places already, and be and his family, the Crowe, have been soothsayers time out of mind, and in many lands. A more mischievous, knowing bird does not exist, or one that better deserves his character for wisdom.

The old fablo of the bird which dropped a tortoise on a stone, is enacted every day by Hoodies. Any one who will take the trouble to watch, may see hoodies on the shores of the Western Isles, at low tide, flying up into the air and dropping down again.

It will be found that they are trying to drop large stranded muscles and other shells, on the stones on the beach ; and if left to their own devices, they will go on till they succeed in cracking the «hell, and extracting the inhabitant.

Keepers who trap them most successfully, do it by beating them at their own weapons. They put a bait into a pool of water, and make a show of hiding it, and aet the trap on a knoll at some distance. The Hoodie makes a gradual approach, rcconnoitering the ground as be advances, and settling on the knolls which command a view, perhaps repeating hie song of silly, silly, till he settles on the trap, and next morning his head is on the kennel door with the mortal remains of other offenders.

I suspect that the Hoodie was made a soothsayer because of his natural wisdom.

14. The Grouse Cock and his wife are always disputing and may be heard on any fine evening or early morning quarrellingand scolding about the stock of food

FABLES. 277

This is what the hen says,— " FAIC THUSA 'N LA UD 's 'N LA ш> BILB." And the cock, with hie deeper voice, replies,— " FAIO THU8A 'N CNOC ÜD 's 'N скос UD BILK." See tliou younder day, and yon other day. See them younder hill, and yon other lui!.

Of nil the itoriei I bare gathered and heard, this ii all I hare about the Groa»«. U U remarkable ; for if theie Btoriei were home-made, and in modern timen, they would surely treat of the only bird whoso birth*, deaths, and marriages are chronicled in the newspapers,—and which is peculiar to the British laics.

16. The'Eagle and the Wren once tried who could fly highest, and the victor was to he king of the birds. So the Wren flow straight up, and the Eaglo flew in great circles, and when the Wren was tired he settled on the Eagle's back.

When the Eagle was tired he stopped and

" C' AIT« BHEIL THU DHRBOLAIN f" Uns' AN IOI.AI1L " ТПЛ MISE N 80 08 DO CRANN," Г Its' N* URBOLAN.

"Where art thon, Wronî" said the Eagle. " I am hero above theo," said the Wren. And so the Wren won the match.

This waa told me in my childhood, I think, by the Her. Mr. MacTarish. There is a much better version of the Могу in Grimm's "King Wren," in which the notes of many creatures are made into German ; bat this describes the flight of eagle and wren correctly enough. I lately, Sept I860, beard it in bkye.

16. ТПА Fios FiTHicn AOÜD. Thou hast ravens' knowledge, is commonly said* to children who are unusually knowing about things of which they have no ostensible means of gaining knowledge.

Odin had two rarcns who names meant Mind and Memory, which told him everything that pamed in the world.

t Ч 8 WEST HIGHLAND TALIÄ

17. NBAD AIR Bui HE. UBS AIR IN I n EUS AIR CAI8O MAR AM BI SIN AID AN FlHTHRAOH BITHIDH AM BAS.

Nest at Candlemas, egg at inid, bird at Pash. If that hath not the Baren, death he hath.

Tbii ii rather a bit of popular natural history than anything •lie, but it ihewi tbnt the raren il at least ai important a personage amongst Celt* ai the grouse is amongst Saxon*.

18. S' B10BAD THU 8IOD, AB8 AN DRKOLAN 'N UR

TiiusN к, DOB ANS AN FHAIRIOK.

Thou'rt lessened by that, said the Wren, when he dipped his beak in the sea.

There are a great number of similar ttoriee current in the ¡•lands, but it ii тегу hard to periuade any one that inch trifles can be of any value. I hare lately heard of a number of itoriei of the kind. For example—

19. John Mack in non, stable-boy at Broodford, in Skye, tells that " a man was one day walking along the rood with a creel of herrings on his back, and two foxes saw him, and the one, who was the biggest, said to the other, ' Stop thou here, and follow the man, and I will run round and pretend that I am dead.' So he ran round, and stretched himself on the road. The man came on, and when he saw the fox, ho was well pleased to find so fine a beast, and he picked him up, and threw him into the creel, and he walked on. But the fox threw the herrings out of the creel, and the other followed and picked them up ; and when the cruel was empty, the big fox leaped out and ran away, and that is how they got the herrings.

Well, they went on together till they came to a smith's house, and there was a horse tied at the door, and he had a golden shoe, and there was a name on it

" ' I will go and read what is written on that shoe,'

PABLES. S 79

«aid the big fox, and he went ; but the horse lifted his foot, and struck a kick on hint, and drove hie brains ont

" ' Chill' ghiir are an siunnach beag cha agolair mi e' elm 'n ail learn a bhL'

" ' Lad, Lad/ said the little fox, ' no scholar me, nor wish I to be;"' and, of course, he got the herrings, though my informant did not say so.

20. A boy, Alexander Mackenzie, who walked with mo from Carbost, in Skye, told that a bee soilloan met a mouse and said,

" Teann a nail 'us gun deanamaid tigh." " Come over till we make a house." " I will not," said Luchag, the mousic.

Fear dim 'n dug thusa do mhil ohnmraidh Dcanadh e tigh gheamhraidh dliuit Tha tigh agamsa fo thalamh Nach ruig air gallian na gaoith Bith tusa an ad isean pheallach A ruidh air barrad h nan craobh.

He to whom (hou gaveet thy summer honey, Let him make a winter house for thee ; I have a little house under the ground, That can reach neither cold nor breeze, Thou wilt be a ragged creature, Running on the tope of the trees.

21. The same boy told that there was a mouse in the hill, and a mouse in a farm.

" It were well," said the hill mouse, " to be in thr farm where one might get things."

Said the farm mouse, " S' fhearr an t-sith." Better is peace.

г8о WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

22. The following is not strictly speaking a fable, l'iii it is a gort of moral tale, and may be classed with fuhloa It seems to inculcate a lesson of self-reliance and self-help. I wrote it in English from the Gaelic repetition of John Mackenzie at Inverary in 1859, and made him repeat it in I860, when I made up several omissions. Uthur versions have coino to me from other sources, and the tale sueme to be well known in the I lit'Main is. If it is in any book, I have not been able to find it. Mackenzie says he learned it from a native of U ist, and I have a very well written version of it, told by Mncintyre in Benbecula, to Mr. Torrie. It is culled the " Provost of London," and begins with the family history of the hero of the tale. A great lady fell in love with a poor Highland lad, and he was ashamed of the love she had taken for 1dm, and went away to an uncle who was a colonel, and who got him made a major. The lady took to black melancholy, and he was sent for, and they married. He went to the wars, bought a small estate, was killed, and his brother- in-law brought up his son. Then comes the dream, the journey for three years in Scotland, Ireland, and England ; the meeting with " one of the people of Cambridge," and the rest of the incidente nearly as they were told to me by Mackenzie, but in different words.

XVIIЪ. BA1LLIE LUNNAIN.

Told by Jobo Mackenzie, at Ьтегагу, to J. F. C. August 1859 and I860.

ГГЩЕКЕ wo.ro at some time of the world two brother« -•- in one farm, and they were very great friends, and they had each a eon ; end one of the brothers died, and ho left his brother guardian. When the lad was near to be grown up, he was keeping the farm for his mother almost as well as hie father could have done. One night he saw a dream in his sleep, the most beautiful lady that there was in the world, and he dreamed of lier three times, and he resolved to marry her and no other woman in the world ; and ho would not stay in the farm, and he grew pale, and his father's brother could not think what ailed him ; and ho was always asking him what was wrong with him. " Well, never mind," one day he said, " brother of my father, I have neen a dream, the most beautiful woman that there is in the world, and I will marry no other but she ; and I will now go out and search for her over the whole world till I find her."

Said the uncle, " Son of my brother, I have a hundred pounds ; I will give them to thee, and go ; and when that ie s]>ent come back to me, and I will give thee another hundred."

So the lad took the hundred pounds, and he went

i 8l WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

to France, and then he went to Spain, and all over the world, but he could not find the lady he liad seen in his sleep. At lost he came to London, and he had spent all his money, and his clothes were worn, and he did not know what ho should do for a night's lodging.

Well, as he was wandering about the streets, whom should he see but a quiot-looking respectable old woman ; and lie spoko to her ; and, from less to inoro, ho told hor all that had happened to him ; and she was well pleased to see a countryman, and she said,

" I, too, am a Highland woman, though I am in this town." And she took him to a small house that she had, and she gave him meat and clothes.

And she said, " Go out now and take a walk ; maybe thou mayest see here in one day what thou mightcst not see in a year."

On the next day ho was out taking a walk about the town, and he saw a woman at a window, and he knew her at once, for she was the lady he had seen in his sleep, and he went back to the old woman.

" How went it with thee this day, Gael t " said sha

" It went well," said he.

" Oh, I have seen the lady I saw in my sleep," said he. And he told her all about it.

Then the old woman asked about the house and the street ; and when she knew—" Thou hast seen her," said sha " That is all thou wilt see of her. That is the daughter of the Bailie of London ; but I am her foster mother, and I would bo right glad if she would marry a countryman of my own. Now, do thou go out on the morrow, and I will give thoo Ano highland clothes, and thou wilt find the lady walking in such а street ; herself and three maidens of company will go out together ; and do thou tread on her gown ; and

ПЛ11,1,1 K LUNNAIN. 283

when she turns round to see what ia the matter, do thou speak to her."

Well, the lad did this. He went oat and he found the lady, and he set his foot on her dress, and the gown rent from the bond ; and when she turned round he said, " I am asking you much grace—it was an accident"

" It was not your fault ; it was the fault of the dressmaker that made the dress so long," said she.

And she looked at him ; and when she saw how handsome ho was, she said, " Will you be so kind as to como home with me to my father's house and take something 1 "

So the lad went and sat down, and before she asked him anything she set down wine before him and said, " Quicker is a drink than a tale."

When he had taken that, he began and he told her all that happened, and how he had seen her in his sleep, and when, and she was well pleased.

" And I saw thee in my sleep on the same night," said she.

He went away that day, and the old woman that he was lodging with asked him how he had got on, and he told her everything that had happened ; and she went to the Bailie's daughter, and told her all the good she could think of about the young lad ; and after that ho was often at the Bailie's house ; and at lost the daughter said she would marry him. " But I fear that will not do," said she. " Go home for a year, and when thou contest back I will contrive to marry thee," said she, " for it is the law of this country that no one must bo married unless the Bailie himself gives her by the hand to her bridegroom," said she ; and she left blessing with him.

Well, the lad went away as the girl said, and he

284 WHST HIGHLAND TAUES.

was putting everything in order at home ; and he told his father's brother all that liad happened to him ; but •when the year was nearly out he set off for London again, and he had the second hundred with him, and some good oat-meal cakes.

On the road, whom should he meet but a Sassanach gentleman who was going the same road, and they began to talk.

" Where art thou going ?" said the Saxon.

" Well, I am going to London," said he

" When I was there last I set a net* in a street, and I am going to see if it is as I left it. If it is well I will take it with me ; if not, I will leave it"

" Well," said the other, " that is but a silly thing. How can lintseod bo as thou hast loft it / It must bo grown up and trodden down by ducks and geese, and eaten by hens long ago. I am going to London, too ; but I am going to marry the Bailie's daughter."

Well, they walked on together, and at long last the Saxon began to get hungry, and he had no food with him, and there was no house near ; and he said to the other, " Wilt thou give me some of thy food 1"

" Well," said the Gael, « I have but poor food- oaten bread ; I will give you some if you will take it ; but if I were a gentleman like you I would never travel without my own mother."

" How can I travel with my mother Î " said the Saxoa " She is dead and buried long ago, and rotting in the earth ; if not, why should I take her with met"

And he took the oat cake and ato it, and they wunt on their way.

They had not gone far when a heavy shower came

• To let a net and to row lint are expressed by tbe ваше words.

IMILIJE bUNKAlN. »8j

on, and the Gael had a rough plaid about him, but the Saxon had none ; and he said to the other,

" Wilt thou lend me thy plaid Î"

" I will lend you a part of it," said the Gael ; " but if I were a gentleman like you, I would never travel without my house, and I would not be indebted to any one for favours."

" Thou art a fool," said the Saxon ; " my house is four storeys high. How could any man carry a house that is four storeys high about with him Î"

But he wrapped the end of the Highlander's plaid about his shoulders, and they wont on.

Well, they had not gone far till they came to a small river, and the water was deep after the rain, and there was no bridge, for in those days bridges were not so plentiful as they are now ; and the Saxon would not wet his feet, so he said to the Highlander,

" Wilt thou carry me over?"

" Well," said the Gael, " I don't mind if I do ; but if I were a gentleman like you, I would never travel without my own bridge, and I would not bo in any man's debt for favours."

" Thou art a silly fellow," said the Saxon, " How can any man travel alraut with a bridge that is made of stone and lime. Thou art but a 'burraidh,' and weighs as much as a house 1"

But he got on the back of his fellow-traveller nevertheless, and they travelled on till they got to London. Then the Saxon went to the house of the Baillie, and the other went to the little house of hie old countrywoman, who was the foster-mother of the Bailie's daughter.

Well, the Saxon gentleman began to tell the Bailie all that had happened to him by the way ; and he eaid—

a 86 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

" I met with a Gael by the way, and he was a perfect fool—the greatest booby that man ever saw. Ho told me that he liad sown lint here a year ago in a street, and tliat he was coming to fetch it, if he should find it as he left it, but that if he did not, he would leave it ; and how should he find that after a year t Ho told mo I should never travel without my mother, and my house, and my bridge ; and how could a man travel with all these things 1 But though he was nothing but a fool, ho was a good-natured fellow, for lie gave mo some of his food, and lent me a bit of his plaid, and he carried me over a river."

" I know not but he was as wise as the man that was speaking to him," said the Bailie ; for he was а wise man. " I '11 toll you what he meant," said he.

" UV!!, I will show that ho was a fool as great as over was scon," said the Saxon.

" He bos loft a girl in this town," said the Bailie, " and ho is come to see if she is in the same mind as eho was when he left lier ; if so, he will take her with in in, if not, he will leave her; he has set a net," said he. " Your mother nourished you, and a gentleman like you should have his own nourishment with him. He meant that you should not be dependent on him. It was the booby that was with him," said the Bailie. " A gentleman like you should have his own shelter, and your house is your shelter when your are at home. A bridge is made for crossing a river, and a man should always be able to do that without help ; and the man was right, and lie was no fool, but a smart lad, and I should like to see him," said the Bailie ; • " and I would go to fotch him if I know where he was," said he. According to another version, the house and bridge meant a coach and a saddle-horse.

Well, the next day the Bailie went to the bouse

SAILLIE LUNNAIK. 287

where the lad was, and he asked him to come home to hie dinner ; and the lad came, and he told the Bailie that he had understood all that had been said

" Now," said he, " as it is the law that no man may be married here unless the Bailie gives him the bride by the hand, will you be so kind as to give me the girl that I have come to marry, if she is in the same mind ? I will have everything ready."

And the Bailio said, " I will do that, my smart lad, to-morrow, or whenever thou dost choose. I would go farther than that for such a smart 1юу," said he,

" Well, I will be ready at such a house to-morrow," said the lad ; and he went away to the foster-mother's house.

When the morrow came, the Bailie's daughter disguised herself, and slip went to the house of her foster- mother, and the Gael had got a churchman there ; and the Bailie came in, and he took his own daughter by the hand ; but she would not give her hand to the Lid,

" Give thy hand, girl," said the Bailie, " It is an honour for thee to marry such a smart lad" And he gave her to him, and they were married according to law.

Then the Bailie went home, and he was to give hie daughter by the hand to the Saxon gentleman that day ; but the daughter was not to be found ; and he was a widower, and she was keeping the house for him, and they could not find her anywhere.

" Well," said the Bailie, " I will lay a wager that Gael has got her, after all" And the Gael came in with the daughter, aud ho told them everything just as it had happened, from the beginning to the end, and how ho had plenty in his own country.

288 WEST IIIGIILAM' T.U.ES.

And the lUilie said, " Well, since I myself hare given thee my daughter by the liand, it is a marriage, and I am glad tliat ehe has got a smart lad like thee for a husband."

And they made a wedding that lasted a year'and a day, and they lived happily ever after, and if they have not died since then they are alive yet

XVII e. THE SUM SWAKTHY CHAMPION.

From Jame« Wilson, blind fiddler, IsUy, 1869.

was a poor man dwelling in Ard na n Uaniha, and a eon was born to him, and he gave him school and learning till he was fourteen yean of aga When he was fourteen yean of age, he said to his father,

" Father, it is time for me to be doing for myself, if thou wouldst give me a fishing-rod and a basket" < The poor man found every chance tall he got a fishing-rod and a basket for him. When ho got the fishing-rod and the basket, he went round about Loch Aird na n Uamha, and took down (by) Loch Thora- bais ; and after he had fished Loch Thorabais closely, he came to Loch Phort an Eillean ;* and after he hiul fished Loch Phort an Eillean before him, he took out by Loch Allalaidh. Ho stayed the night in Aird Eileastraidh, and every trout he had left with a poor woman that was there.

On tho morrow he thought that he would rise out, and that he would betake himself to Eirinn. He came to tho garden of Aird Inneaedail, and he plucked with him sixteen apples, and then he came to Mull of Othe-t He threw an apple out into the sea, and • The lake in which ii the bland where the Lords of the Isle» had their dwelling.

f The nearest point to Ireland. 0

29<> WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

he gave a step on it : he threw the next one, and he gave a step on it : he threw thus one after one, until he came to the sixteenth, and the sixteenth took him on shore in Kirinn.

When he was on shore he shook his ears, and be thought that it was in no sorry place he would stay.

' " Be moved as sea heaps from lea heap». And a* |>layballs from plajballs— At a furious «inter wind— So swiftly, sprucely, cheerily, Right proudly,

Through glens and high-top«, And no stop made be Until he came

To city and court of O'Domlmuill. Ho garó a cheery, light leap O'er top and turret Of court and city Of O'DomlmnilL"»

0' Domhnnill took much anger and rage that such an unseemly ill stripling should come into his court, while he hod a doorkeeper for his town.

" I will not believe," said the Champion, but " that thou art taking anger and rage, O'DomhnuilL"

" Well, then, I am," said O'Domhnuill, " if I did but know at whom I should let it out"

" My good man," said the Champion, " coming in was no easier for me than going out again would be."

" Thou goest not out," said O'Domhnuill, " until thou teilest me from whence thou earnest"

" I came from hurry-sknrry, From the end of endless spring,

* The only authority for writing this as poetry is the rhythm and alliteration of the original.

THE SLIM SWARTHY CHAMPION. 191

From the loved swanny gle

A night in Islny and a night in Mao,

A night on cold watching cairni.

On the face of a mountain . _ _.

In the Scotch king's town

Was I born.

A soiled, sorry Champion am I,

Though I happened apon this town."

" What," said O'Domhnuill, " canst thou do, oh Champion 1 Surely, with all the distance thou hast travelled, thou canst do something."

"I was once," said he, "that I could 'play » harp."

"Well, then," said O'Domhnuill, "it is I myself that have got the best harpers in the five-fifths of Eirinn, or in the bridge of the first of the people, such as—Ruairidh O'Cridheagan, Tormaid O'Giollagan, and Thaog O'Chuthag."

" Let's hear them playing," said the Champion. •

" They could play tunes and " oirr " and "OHOAIB," Trampling thing«, tightened strings, Warriors, heroes, and gbosU on their feet, Ghosts and spectres, illness and fever, They 'd set in sound lasting sleep The whole great world, With the sweetness of the calming tones That the harpers could play."

The music did not please the Champion. He caught the harps, and he crushed them under his feet, and he set them on the fire, and made himself a warming, and a sound warming at them.

U'Domhnuill took- much lofty rage that a man had come into his court who should do the like of thia to the harps.

" My good man, I will not believe that thou art not taking anger," said the Champion.

• пет HIGHLAND TALKS.

" Well, then, I am, if I did bat know at whom I

should let it oat"

" Back, my good man ; it was no easier for me to break thy harps than to make them whole again," said the Champion.

" I will give anything to have them made whole again," said O'DomhnuilL

" For two times five marke I will make thy harpa ai good as they were before," said the Champion.

"Thou ehalt get that," said O'BomhnuilL

O'Domhnuill gave him the marks, and he seized on the fill of his two palms of the ashes, and he made a harp for Ruairidh O'Ciidheagan ; and one for Tor- maid O'Giollagan ; and one for Thaog O'Chuthag; and a great choral harp for himself

" Let's hear thy music," said O'DomhnuilL

" Thou ehalt hear that, my good man," said the Champion.

The Champion began to play, and och l but he was the boy behind the harp.

" He could play tunei, and mn and OBOIIH Trampling thing«, tightened string«, .

Warriors, heroes, and ghosts on their feet, GhoaU and null, and sickness and fu ver, That would Bet in sound lasting ileep The whole great world With the iweetnesi of the calming tunee That the champion could play."

" Thou art melodious, oh Champion ! " said O'DomhnuilL

When the harpers heard the Champion playing, they betook themselves to another chamber, and though he had followed on, still they had not come to the fore. • ...

THE SUM SWARTHY CHAMPION. »ÇJ

O'Domhnuill went away, and he sent a bidding to meat to the Champion.

" Tell the good man that he -will not have that much to gloom on me when I go at mid-day to-morrow," said tho Champion.

O'Domhnuill took much proud rage that such a man should come into hie court, and that he would not take meat from him. He sent up a fringed shirt, and a storm mantle.

" Where is this going t " said the Champion.

" To thee, oh Champion," said they.

" Say you to the good man that he will not have so much as that to gloom on me when I go at mid-day to-morrow," said the Champion.

O'Domhnuill took much anger and rage that euch a man had come into his court and would not either take meat or dress from him. He sent up five hundred Galloglache to watch the Champion, so that O'Domhnuill might not be affronted by hie going out by any way but by tho door.

" Where are you going!" said tho Champion.

" To watch thee, Champion, so that thou shouldst not go to affront O'Domhnuill, and not to let thee out but as thou shouldst," said they.

" Lie down there," said the Champion, " and I will let you know when I am going."..

They took hia advice, and they lay down beside him, and when the dawn broke, tho Champion went into his garments.

" Where are my watchers, for I am going t" said the Champion.

" If thou shouldst stir," said the great Galloglach, " I would make a sharp sour shrinking for thee with this plough-board in my hand."

Tho Champion leaped on tho point of hia pins, and

194 WEST HIGHLAND TALKS.

he went over top and turret of court and city of O'DomhnuilL

The Galloglach threw the plough-board tliat was in his hand, and he slew four and twenty persona of the very people of O'DomhnuilL

Whom should the Champion meet, bat the tracking lad of O'Domhnuill, and be said to him—

" Here's for thee a little sour grey weed, and go in and rub it to the mouths of those whom it killed and bring them alive again, and earn for thyself twenty calving cows, and look behind thee when thou pattest from me, whom thou ehalt see coming."

When the tracking lad did this he saw no being coming, but he saw the Champion thirteen miles on the other side of Luimineach (Limerick).

" He moved as iea-heapi o' sea-beaps, And as playballs o' playbulle, As a furious winter wind— So «wiftly, sprucely, cheerily, Right proudly,

Through glens and high tops, And bo made no «top Until be reached MacSeathain.« the Southern Earl."

He struck in the door. Said MacSeathain, the southern Earl, " Who's that in the door 1"

" I am Duradan o' Duradan Dust of Dust," said the champion.

"Let in Dust of Dust," said MacSeathain, the southern Earl ; " no being must be in my door without getting ia"

They let him in.

"What couldst thou do, Duradan o' Duradan 1" anid the southern Earl.

* Seathain is supposed to be John, therefore Johnson.

THE SLIM SWARTHY CHAMPION. 295

"I was on a time, and I could play a juggle," said he.

"Well, then, it is I myself that have the best juggler iu the five-fifths of Kirinn, or the bridge of the first of the people, as is Taog Bratach Mac a Cheallaich, rascally Taog, the son of Concealment."

They got up the juggler.

" What," said the southern Earl, " is the trick that thou canst do, Dust of 1 Mist Г

" Well, I was on a time that I eonld boh my ear off my cheek," said he.

The Champion went and ho takes the ear off the cheek.

Said rascally Taog, the son of Concealment, " 1 i could do that myself."

He went and he took down his ear, and up he could not bring it ! but the Champion put up his own ear as it was before.

Tin- Kill took much anger and rage that the ear •hould IMS off his juggler. *'

" For five merke twice over," said the Champion, " I would set the ear as it was before."

He got the five merks twice over, and he put the ear on the juggler as it was before.

" I see," said the Earl, " that the juggling of this night is with tin'"."

Rascally Taog went away ; and though they should have staid there the length of the night, he would not have come near them.

Then the Champion went and he set a great ladder up against the moon, and in one place of it he put a hound and a hare, and in another place of it he put « carl and a girl. A while after that he opened first where he had put the hound and the hare, and the hound was eating the hare ; he struck him a stroke of

196 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

tlio edge of hie palm, and cast hie head off. Then he opened again where were the carl and the girl, and the curl was kissing the girl He struck him a stroke of ¡In' edge of liie palm, and ho cast hi.s head oft

" I would not for much," said the Earl, " that a hound and a carl should be killed at my court."

" Give five merke twice over for each one of them, and I will put the heads on them," said the Champion.

" Thou shalt get that," said the southern EarL

He got the five merke twice over, and he put the head on the hound and the carl as they were before; and though they should be alive till now, the hound would not have touched a hare, nor the carl a girl, for fear their heads should be taken off.

On the m'orrow, after their meat in the morning, hn wont hunting with the EarL When they were amongst the wood, they heard a loud voice in a knoll (or a bush).

" Bo this from me," said Dust of Dust, " I must go to see the foot of the carl MacCeochd. He went out—

" And moved as ica-heaps о' веа-hcapi, And м playballi o* playballa i Ai a furious winter wind— So swiftly, sprucely, cheerily, Itight proudly,

Through gleni and high tops, And no stop made he •

Until he reached The house of the Carl MacCeochd."

He struck at the door. "Who's that?" said the carl MacCeochd. V " I," said he, " am the leech's lad."

" Well," said the carl, " many a bad black leech is coming, and they are not doing a bit of good to me."

THE SLIM SWARTHY CHAMPION.

" Give word to the carl that unices he will not let tee in, I will be going," said the Champion.

" Let in the leech's lad ; perhaps he is the one in whom is my help," said the carl MacCeochd.

They let him in.

" Kise up, carl MacCeocbd, thou art free from thy SOFTS," said the Champion.

Carl MacCeochd arose up, and there was not a man in Eirinn swifter or stronger than he.

" Lie down, carl MacCeochd, thou art full of sores," said the Champion.

The carl MacCeochd lay down, and he was worse than he ever was.

" Thou didst ill," said the carl MacCeochd, " to heal mo and spoil me again." • .

" Thou man here," said the Champion, " I was but shewing thee that I could heal thcc,"

" I have," said the carl MacCeochd, "but the one daughter in the world, and thou ehalt got her and half of all I have, and all my share when I go way, and heal my leg."

" It sliall not bo so, but send word for every leech that thou hast had, that I might get talking with them," said tho leech's lad.

Thoy Bc.nt word by running huís through the five- fifths of Eirinn for the leeches that were waiting on the carl, and they came, all thinking that they would got pay, and when they came riding to tho house of the carl, tho Champion went out and ho said to them,

" What made you spoil tho leg of the carl MacCeochd, and set himself thus 1"

" Well then," said they, " if we were to raise the worth of our dnipi, without coming to the worth of our trouble, wo would not leave him the worth of hie shoo in tho world.

WOT HIGHLAJTD TALJS.

floid the leech'« lad, " I wffl kj you » wager, »ad th*t и the full of mj e*p of gold, te Ъ* Mi at the «ski

of yonder ilale, ami that there are none in Finn и will be at it sooner than the carl MaeCeochd."

He get the cap full of gold at the end of the and the leeches kid the wager that that could never be.

He went in where the carl MacCeoehd was, and b* Mid to him,

" Arise, Carl MacCeoehd, thon art whole of sores, I have laid a wa^er on thee."

The carl got up whole and healthy, and he went oat, and he wag at three springs at the cap of gold, and he left the leeches far behind.

Then the leeches only asked that they might get their lives. Promue of that they got not, (but) the leech's lad got in order.

fie snatched hia holly in his fist, and he seized the grey hand plane that was on the after side of his haunch, and he took nnder them, over them, through and amongst them ; and left no man to tell a tale, or earn bad tiding«, that he did not kill*

When the carl was healed he sent word for the nobles and for the great gentles of Eirinn to the wedding of hi« daughter and the Champion, and they were gathering out of each quarter.

" What company is there J" said the leeches' lad.

" There is the company of thine own wedding, and they are gathering from each half and each side," said the carl MacCeoehd.

"Be this from me!" said he; " O'Conachar the Shelly (or of Sligo) lias a year's service against me," and he put a year's delay on the wedding.

* Thii Menu like mock heroic*, ал imitation of euch tale« u the Knight of the Red Shield and Manchado MacBrian.

ТПЕ SLIM SWARTHY CHAMPION. 299

"Out be went м Уоогтее! о Voorreel And u УеегетаН о Veercvuill, As a furious winter wind. So swiftly, sprucely, cheerily, Right proudly,

Through gleni and high top«, And no »top did be make Till he struck in the door OfConacharof Sligo."

" Who's that Г eaid O'Conachar of Sligo. i

"I," said he, "Goodherd."

" Let in Goodherd," said O'Conachar of Sligo, for great is my need of him here."

They let him in.

" What couldat thon do here !" eaid O'Conachar.

" I am hearing," said he, to O'Conachar of Sligo, " that the chase is upon thcc. If thou wilt keep out the chase, I will keep in the spoil," said Goodherd,

" What wages wilt thou take 1 " said O'Conachar of Sligo.

" The wages I will take is that thou shouldst not make half cups with me till the end of a day and year," said Goodherd.

O'Conachar made this covenant with Him, and the herdsman went to herd.

The chase broke in on O'Conachar of Sligo, and they betook themselves to where the herdsman was, to lift the spoil When the herdsman saw that they had broken in, he took the holly in his fist, and seized the grey hand-plane that was on the after side of his haunch, and left no man to tell a tale, or earn bad tidings, that he did not kill He went into a herd's bothy, and he (was) hot, and he saw O'Conachar Sligheach just done drinking a boyne of milk and water.

ЗОЭ WEM HIGHLAND TALES.

" Witness, gods and men, that thou hast broken thy promise," said Goodherd. '

"That fill is no better than another fill," said O'Conachar Sligheach.

" That selfsame fill thou didst promise to me," said Goodherd.

Ho took anger at O'Conachar Slighcoch, and lie went away, and he reached the house of the carl MacCeochd. The daughter of the carl made him a drink of green apples and •warm milk, and he was choked.

And I loft them, and they gave me butter on a cinder, porridge kail in a creel, and paper shoes ; and they sent roe away with a big gun bullet, on a road of glass, till they left me sitting here within.

AN CEATHAIRNEACH GAOL, RIABHACH.

BHA duioe bochd a bba tnn in Aird n» h-Uamha a chbmhnuidh, «gu< rugadh mac ilha, 'j thug e agoil a'a ionnsachadh dlia gus an robb e ceithir bliadhna deug a dh' aois thuirt e r'a athair, " Athair, 's mithidh dhombaa 'bbith dcanadh air mo ahon f hein ; na'n d lliugadb tbu dhomb alat-iaagaidh aa basgaid;" Fbualr an duine bochd a' h-uile cothrom gua an d' fhuair e alat-iaagaidb аз batgaid da.

Nur a f huair e'n t alat-iaagaidh 'a a bhaagaid chaidh • ma'n ciiairt ]/och Aird na h-Uamha, '• gbabh e 'nuas Loch Tlibrabala, 'a an deigh dha Loch Thbrabaia a chliabairt thainig a gu Loch Pliort an Eilean, 'a an deigh dha Loch Phort an Eilean iasgach roimhe ghabh e 'mach Loch AllalaJdh. Dh' fhan e 'san oidbche 'n Aird Eileastraidh, 's a' h-uile breac a ЫГ aige dh' fhag e aig boireannach bochd a bha 'n ein end.

An la'r na mhaireach emaointich e gu'n togadh e' mach ague gun d' thngadh e Eirinn air. ThaJnig e gu garradh Aird Inneasdail aguj apiön e lela aè ublila deug, 'a thainig e'n sin gu Maul na Ii-Otha. Thilg e uUial a mach 'a an fhairge 'a thug e ceum urra. Thilg e 'n at h ti¡ agus thug e ceum eil' urra. Thilg e, mur seo, te an deigh te, gu* an d' thainig e gua an t-aeathamh té deng, 'a thug an t-seatho té deug air tir an Eirinn e.

AS СКАТИЛ I UN K ACH GAOL, Bl ABU ACH. JO I

Nur a bha e air tir chrath « chlnaian, ai smaointicb • Dach b' »n n an kite luarrach a dh' (banadb e.

(¡Muais « mar mhuir-mhill о mhnir-mhill, 'S mar mhire-bhuill o mhire-bhuill ; Mar ghaoith ghailbheach gheamhraidh, • Gu aitheach, sothach, aanntacb, Bar-mbeamnach,

Trtd gbteannlan ai ard-mhullacb ; '3 cha d* rinneadh stad Ici« Gui an d'thiiinlg e On cuirt Agns cathair O Domhnuill. Thug a leum lunndach aoillelr •

Thar hair ague baideil Cùirt «gui cathair 0 Uomhnuill.

Ghabh 0 Dbmhnuill mbran fcirg aguí corruich a leithid de «bruina, dhona, ao-dhealbacb a thigbinn a itigh d' a chuirt, agoi donair a bhith aige foin r'a bhaile.

" Cha chreid ml fein," an' an ccathairneach, " nach 'eil tha 'gabh- ail fcirg agua oorrnicb O Domhnuill?"

" MaU tha," on' О Dorahnulll, " na'm biodh fioi agam со rii a liginn a mach «7"

• A dhuine mhath," on' an Ccotlitlrneacli, " cha b' fbaia dhomhaa tighlnn a atlgh na dol • mach a ris."

• Cha d' thcid thu "math," on' 0 Domhnuill, « gui an ionii thu dhomhaa со ai a thàioig thu."

Thkinlg ml о ghriobhalll o ghral.b.,11,

O bhun an tobalr dhUinn,

0 ghlcann aluinn eeUich ;

Oldhch' an II« 'a oidhch' am Manainn ;

Oidbch' air charna foara fair* ;

An aodann monaldh

Am baile righ Alba

Rugadh ml ;

Ceàrnach inairach, lalach mi.

Gad tharladh air a' bhaile ato mi.

• Dt," an* О Domhnuill, " a cheathairnlah a dhtenadh thnaa Г 'i cmnteaeh, 'a na 'ihlnbhall tha 'dh' altar gu'n deanadh thu rudaigin."

" Bha ml uair," on' caan, "agu* ahclnninn emit."

• Mala," an' 0 Uomhnulll, " '§ ann agam fein a tha na cmittaran

302 WOT HIGHLAND TALES.

• 'i f lieàrr ann од cbjg chbigeamh na li-Eireann, na'n Drochaid- chendan na Mitli ; mar a Iba Rualridh 0 Cridbeagan, Tarmaid O Oiollo^an, agua Taog Q Chutbag."

"Cluinneam a' teína eud," иге' an Ceathairneach. Thoiiich na dkruirean.

Sheinneadh eud puirt, agua uirt, aguí urgain, Nitlieanna tearmad, tcudin tairteil ; Curaldbean, laolcb, и aoig air an сашп ; Aoig, a> iiinn, a» galair, as fiabhraii; Chuireadh eud 'nan ttion sioram auain An aaogbal mor gu léir, Le biiinead nam port eliiogaidh A aheinneadh na cliirsaireun.

Cha do chord an cebl rii a' Cbeatbairueach. Bog e tir na clàn- aichean, 'a phrann e fo a chaun eud, 'a choir e air teinidb eud, 'a rinn e gharadh, 's a chruaidh-gbaradb riu.

Qhabh O Domhnuill mbran ardaln gun d' thanaig duine 'etigh do 'n chuirt aige Mheanadh a leithid aeo air na claraaichean.

" Cha chreid ml f lidin a dliuinu mbath nach 'eil thu 'gabhail corr- uich," an' an Ceutliairneach.

" Mata tha, nam biodh fhioa'am со ría t liginn a mach o."

"Air 'ur n-aia a dhuine mbatbl Cba b' fbasa dbomhsa do chlanalcbean a bhrUdeadh na'n alànachadh a rial" an' an Ceath- airneach.

" Bheir ml ni earn bith eeacbad ainon an ilbnachadh a r'is," ans' 0 Domhnuill.

" Air chöig mhalrg da nair ni miso do chlkruicbeaa cho math 'и liba eud roiinhld," un' an Ceathairneach.

•' ülieibb Üiu ain," an' O Uuuihuuill.

Tbug O Uomhnuill na mairg da ague rug e air lim л dim bholae do 'u luaitli, 'a rinn e danach do Uuairidh O Cridheagan, '« ti do Thormaid O Qiollagan, 'i té do Tbaog 0 Chnthag ague danach mhör, cholrealach da flic.

" Cluinneam do chebl," an' O Domhnuill.

" Cluinnidh tu ein a dhuine mhath," un' an Ceathairneach.

Thbiaich an Ceathairneach air seinn, as, oth I b' e "m balacb air chili na cliirsaicb e 1 .

, _ Sbelnneadh e puirt, agua uirt, agua orgain,

Nilheunna tearmad ; leudan tairteil ;

Curaidhean, laoidi, aa aoig air an caaan ; , _. Aoig, n» ¡linn, as galah-, ai fiabhrala.

AN CEATDAIRNEACH С AOL, ШАВПАСН. 303

'S gao culrte 'nan ikon lioram main. An laoghal mbr gn Mir, Le binnead «' phuirt iMogaidh, A iheinneadh an Ceathaimeacb.

" '8 binn thai' a Cheatbalrnich," in' 0 Domhnaill.

Nnr a chual» na clanalrean an Ceatbairneach a' seinn thug eud soombar '«il* orra, '• gad a leanadh e fnathaad cha d' thigudh end an lethair.

l)h' fhalbh О Dombnuill '• cbuir • cbmhnainn bhldh than а Ceatbalrnich.

"Abraibh rii an duine mhath nach bi 'n ulbhir sin aige r'a mbiiigheadh ormia nor a dh' fholbbai mi air a' mheadbou lath' am maircach," an' an Oatbairncach.

Qhabh O üombnuill moran árdalo a leithld de dhoini 'tblghinn a itaigh d'à chbtrt, '• nach gabhadh e biadh uaidh. Choir • nios leTn' air (altan 'i madal donnain. " Ca' 'bbdl wo a' do) Г " an' an Centhairneach. " A t'ionnsuidh-sa,'Cheathairneach," on'cudaan. "Abraibb-ae rii an duine mhath nach bl 'n aibhlr «in aige r'a mbuigbeadh опта nur a dh' fbolbhn mi air a' mheadban lath' aii la'r na mhaireacb," on' an Oathairheach. Ghabh О DomhnnlU mhran feirg «gus cormich, a leithid de dhuine 'thigbinn a itaigh d'à eholrt, Ъ nach gabhadh, e aona-chuid, biadh na aodach uaidh. Chair e 'nVn obig clad galloglach a dh' fhnire 'Cheathaimicb, air alt 'l nach blodh mailadh air a thoirt do dh' 0 DomhnulII le • Mhol a mach, ralbad §лт bith, ach air an doma."

" CV 'bheil libhie Mol ?" an' an Ceathalrneach.

•At' fhalre-ia 'Cheathalmich, air alt '• nach fbalbb thu, 'thoirt matladh do dh' О Uomhnnill, gnn do ligeil a mach ach mar U cöir dolt," on' eudian.

• LaMhlbh aloe inn an lin," an' an Ceatbairneach, • '• nor a bhioi miai 'g imeachd bhdr mi fios duibh."

Uhabh eud a chomhairle, '• laidh end ike lamb ria, 'i nor a bhrtod am faire chaidh an Ceathalrnich 'na eldeadh.

"Caite ЪЬе11 mo Incbd faire-sa, tha ml 'g imeachd," an' aa Ceethairneacb.

"N»'n carachadh tha," an' an gall-oglach mbr, "dbeanainn cnpan gear, golrt dhlot lei» a' bhord-nrcbair «o a'm* Iklmh."

Learn an Ceaihalrneich air barralbh a phuthag 'i chaldh e thar b*rr agus biidril riiirt a«u» calhalr (> DomhnuilL Tliilg an galloglach am bbrd-archalr a bha 'na laimh, '• mharbb e ceilbir pearunoa fichead di dh' fbjor-mbumntir О Domhnaill.

304 WEST HIGHLAND TALB&

Co 'cholnnich in Ceathalrneach ach gille-leantalnn 0 Domhnnill, '• thuirt a ri«, " Sco dliuit luigh bheag, bhiorath, ghlas, 'б theirig i •taigh, 'i rub ri bileon na feailhnach a mbarbbadh i, '« tboir bebend, '» coiainn duit ftxiin Behead mart laoigh, 'a ambairc aa do dbelgh, nor a dbealacbaa tu riumaa, со 'cbl thu teacbd."

Nur a rinn an gille-leantainn ко cha 'n (bac e neach a' teaebd ; ach chunnalc • 'n Ceathalmeach tri nul« deug an taobh thall de Luimineach. .

Ghluaii e mar mbolr-mhill o mhuir-mhill, 'S mar mhire-bhuill o mbire-bhuill ; Наг ghaoith ghailbheach gheamhraidh, f On »itheach, sotbacb, aanntach, Skr-mbeamnach,

Trid gbleanntan as ard-mbnllacb ¡ 'S cha d' rinneadh atad lela, dot an d' rainig e Mac Seatbain, an t-Iarl deaa.

ВЬпаП • anna an dornad. Thuirt MacSeathaia an t-Iarl DCM ria, " Co aiod 'aan domad ?"

" Tha mite, Duradan О Dîiradan," un' an Ceatbairneach. Thuirt MacSeathan, an t-Iarl Deaa, " Ugibh a itaigh Dbradan

0 Duradan ; cha 'n fhaod Beach a bbitb a'm' dbornsd-aa 'bualadh gun faotainn a itaigb."

Lig eud a itaigh e " D< 'dheanadb thusa' Dhuradain 0 Duradan?" an' an t-Iarl Deal.

" Una ml uair 'i dheanalnn cleaa," art* eaaa.

" Mata 'a ann agam fhtfin a tba 'n aona chleaaaiche 'a fhtkrr ann an cblg chblgeamh na b-Eireann, na 'n Drocbaid cbeudan nam MUh, mar a tba Taog pratach Mac a Clieallalch."

Fhuair eud a nloa an cleaiaiche. " Dé," ana 'n t-Iarl Deas, " an cleaa a dbeanadb thuaa, Dhuradain O Dbradan.

Mata bha mi uair 'a bhogainn a' chluaa Lliur mo leitbcheinn," an' esan.

Dh' fholbh an Ceathairneach 's thugar a' chinai bhhr a leith- cbeinn.

One Taog pratach a' Cheallalch, " Dhèanainn fhéin ain."

Dh' fholbh e 'a thug e 'nuai a chinas, 's a auas cha d' tbugadh e

1 t ach chulr an Ceathairneach a auaa a chluaa fliem mar a bha i roimbid 1

Ohabh an t-Iarla mbnn felrg agos cormlch a' chluaa a bhith d'à chleuaiche. . . •..'.. •

AN CEATHAIRNEACH С AOL, HI АПН ACH. 305

"Air chbig mhairg da tiair," an' an Ceathairneach, "chuirinn ss 'chluas mär a bha i roimhid."

Fhnair • na cbig mhairg da aair, '« chuir e 'chinai air' a ehlea»- alehe mar a bha i roimhid.

"Tim mi Talcinn," ara'an t-Iarlo, "gur leat fhéin cleasacbd na h-oiilhclie 'nochd."

Dh' fholbh THOR pratach, 's gad a dh' tbanadh eud an «in fad na h-nidhche, cha d' thigeadh e a 'n cíiir.

Dh' (holbh an Oathairnrach an sin, 's chnir e drramairc mor loa* ría a' ghealaich ; 's choir e ann un »on alte dheth cii afros gearr- aidh ; 's choir e ann an ait« eil« dheth bodach afros eaile. Treis as a dlifígh seo dh' fhoagail e, 'n toiaeach, far an do choir e 'n cb afros an gearridh ; 's bha 'n cii 'g itheadh a' ghearraidh. Hhunil e baille de dh' oir a bhob' oir a' chu, 's thug e 'n ceann df th. Dh' fhosgail e' rllhlsd fir an robh am bodach 's a' challe ; 's bha 'm bodach a' pog- adh na caile. Bhuail e baille d« dh' oir a bhois' air 's thilg e 'n ceann deth.

"Cha bo gheamha learn," an'an t-Iarl, "air moran, cb agua bodach a bhith air »m marbhidh ann a' m' rhuirt."

" Thoir cbig mbairg da oair airson gach son din 's cuiridb mi» na cinn orra 'ris," on' an Ceathairneach.

" Gheibh thn sin," an' an t-Iarl De»«.

Fhoair e na cöig mhalrg da nalr, 's choir 6 'n ceann air a' chii 's air a' bhodsch mar a bha end roimhid ; 's gad a bhiodh end beb gns an seo, cha d' thogadh an cu lamh air gearraidh, na 'm bodach air calle, air engal gon tug-to na clnn din.

An la 'r na mhkireach, an delgh am biilh, anni a' mhaidinn, chaidh e 'sbeslgalreachd leis an larla. Nor a boa eud feadh na eoflle ebual eud colreal ann an torn.

" llhuam seo," orsa Diiradan 0 Dbradan I framaidh ml dol a dh' ambare cas a' Dhodaich 'Ic Ceocbd.

Ghabh e 'mach,

'S ghloali e mar mhnlr-mhill o mhor-mbül,

'S mar mhtre-bhoill o mhire-bhuill ;

Mar gbaoith ghailbbeach pheamhraidh,

Go sitheach, sothach, aanntach,

Sar-mheamnsch,

Trid ghleanntan as ard-mhollach ;

A gas stad cha d' rlnneadh lela,

Gas ал d' rainig e,

Taigh a' Bbodaich 'le Ceochd.

WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

I Hi uni! e annt an domad. " Co eioil ? " un' am Bodach Нас Ceoehd.

•' Mb?" un' eian, "Gill' an Leigh."

" Mala," 111.4' am bodach, " 'a iomadh Migh dugb, dona 'tigbinn, 'i cha 'n 'eil eud a' deanadh mir feum domhaa."

" Thugaibh flo» do 'n bhodach, mar an Hg e 'ttaigh mi, gu'm bi mi 'g imeacud," are* an Ceathairceach.

" Liglbh a atalgh Gill' an Leigh, oba Inghalde gur h-aim ann a- tha mo chobhair," are' am Bodach Mac Ceoehd.

Lig end a staigh e.

" Eirich iua> a Bhodalcb *Ic Ceoehd, Urn thn мог о chrauchdan," ura' an Ceathairneach.

I)li' ¿iridh am Bodach Mac Ceoehd впав, 's cha robb duin' an Eirinn a bu luailhe 'a a bu laidireacha na e I

" l.iu.ih моя a Bhodaich 'Ic Ceocbd tha t hu Ihn chreuclnliiii," an' an Ceatliairncaoh. Laidh am Bodach Mac Ceochd ею», 'в bha e na bu mbiosa na bha e riabh t

•' 'S olc a rinu tha," un' am Bodach Mac Ceochd, " mo leigheaa agua mo mhilleadh a r'is."

«Adhuine >eo," una GUI'an Leigh; "cha robb mi ach a'Ugeil fliaicinn duit gum b'urrainn mi do leigbeaa I "

" Cha 'n 'eil again," ura' am Bodach Mac Ceochd, " ach an aon nighean rU an t-aaoghal, '« geobh thu i, 'a leith 'a na th'agam, 'a mo uhuid air fad nur a ahiubblaa ml, agua lelghia mo chas."

" Cha'n a lin mar a bbitheaa, ach cuir floa air a' h-uile léigh a bh'agad, 'a gum falghinn-aa 'bhith bruidhinn riutha," ana Gill' an Léïghl

Chuir eud floe le gillean-ruith, feadh chölg chaigeamh na li- Eireann, airton nan lighichean a bha 'feitheamh alr a' bhodach; Ч tliUinig eud air fad, a aaoilsinn gu'faigheadh eud palgheadh. Agua nur a thainig eud, a' marcachd gu taigh a' Bhodaich, chaldh an Ceatliciirneach a mach 'a thuirt e riu.

" Dé 'thug dhuibhae caá a' Bhodaich le Ceochd a mhilleadh, 'a e fliéln a cliur fo ainbheach mur aeo? "

"Mala," un' eudaan, "na'n togamalde luach ar cnngan, gun tighinn air luach ar aaoithreach, cha 'n fhàgamaid luach a bhrog aige ri« an t-eaoghal."

Una Gill' an Leigh ! " Cuiridh mi geall ruibb ; agoa 'a e sin Ihn mo churraichd do dh' br a chur aig ccann na dalach nd ihnaa, '< nach 'eil gin an Eirinn a bhioa aige na 'a luailhe na'm Bodach Mac Ceochd!"

Chuir e'n currachd Ian olr aig ccann na dalach; 'a chuir na leighean geall ria nach b'urrainn aiod a bhith.

AN CEATIIAIRNKACH CAOL, R1ADUAOII. 307

Chaidh • 'ataigh far an robh 'm Bodach Mac Ceochd, '• thuirt e ris.

" Eirich a Bhodtich 'Ic Ceochd, tha tha alan O chreuchdan t Chuir ml geall aa do kith." Dh1 eiridh am Bodach Mac Ceocbd gu si an, fallan, a' chaidh e mach, 'é bha e tliri Ceumannan aig a' chun- achd Mr, 'a dh* fhhg e fad' air deircadh na leightan.

Cha d' Urr na leighean an seo ach na 'm faigheadh end im beatha Iw I Gealladh air a' alod cha d' fuuair end I Chaidh gill' an lelgh air doigh I

Spirr • '< Imilionn 'na dhorn, u ghlac e'n larah-lochdair liatb • ЫГ air taobh piar a thbine, '• thng e focha 'a tharta, 'a frtd aa romp« ; '• cha d* fhag a fear Innaeadh sgeoil na choanadh toaraadail nach do mharbh e !

Nor a bha 'm bodaeh kighlate chulr e fioi air maithibh 'a air mór- ualalean na h-Eireann tlmn báñala a nlghinn 'a a' Chealhalrnlcb, ', bha end u' cruinneacbadh aa gach cearn.

• D« 'chaideachd a tha 'n aiod? " ana Gill' an Leigh I " Tha *n alod cuideachd na bkinni' agad fhein, 'a eud a cruinneacbadh as gach kith ago» u gach taobh," ura' am Bodach Нас Ceochd. " llbnam seo," ara' eaan, " tha faadadh bliadhn' alg 0 Conachar an Sligeach orm ; " 'a chuir e dail bliadhn» 'a a' phoaadh.

Ohabh a 'mach mar mbuir-mhill o mhnlr-mbUl,

'S mar mliire-bhuill o mhira-bhuiU ;

Mar ghaolth rhailbheacli gheamhraidh ;

(lu litheach, aothach, sanntach,

8ar-mhe*mnach,

'I'rlil ghleanntan aa ard-mhnllach ;

'S cha d' rlnneadh atad kia,

(jus an do bhuail a ann an domad

О Conaenar Sligeach.

* Co siod ?" ara' O Conachar Sligeach.

" Mia'," on' eaan, " liaachaille Math." " LJgibh a ttaigb Dutch- aille Math," an' О Conachar Sligeach ;"chionn tha fenm mor agaras' air anni an am aeo."

Lig end a lUigh a.

" Ш 'dheinadh tfanaa 'Bhnaenaill ?" on' О Conachar Sligeach.

" Toa mi 'cluinntinn," on' a rl 0 Conachar Sligeach, " gu 'bheil an toir ort." " Tb»," an' О Conachar Sligeach. "Ma chumas tuta mach an tblr ; cnmaidh miae ttalgh a' chreach t" ana Bnachiille Math I " Ш 'n tnaraadal a ghabhaa to ?" an' О Conachar Sligeach.

" 8a 'n tearavlal a ghabhaa mi, nach dean tha Itâth-chomaitb orm ga ceann lath' at bliadbna," araa UuachailU llathl

WEST HIGHLAND TALKS.

Rinn 0 Conachar Sligcach an climhnanta sco rii. Chaldb am buachuille 'bhua> hailleaclid.

Bhrud an toir a »taigh air О Conachar SHgeach, '• thug ead orra far an robli 'm buauhaill' a thugail na creiche. Nor a chunnaic am buachaille gun do blirlad eud a ataigh, gbabb e 'cliuilionii 'na dborn, ai ghlac a 'n Umh-lochdalr liath a bb* air Uobh piar a thbine ; '• cha d' fliag e fear inneeadh »geoil na 'choanadh tuarasdail an Bin nach do mbarbh e I Chaidh e staigh do bbothag airicb, agua e Uitb, 'a cbunnaic e O Conachar Sligeach an dtTigh miodar biilrn agua bainna 'uhriochanacliadli d'à Ы.

" Fhiannii air dla '• air daoine gn 'n do bhriad t Im do ghealladh I" ana Buachaille Math I

" Cba 'n fhearr an Ian 'ad na Itn eile." ara' 0 Conachar Slig- each.

" An Ian *ud thfm gheall thn Jliomhsa," araa Duachaille Math I

Ohabh t corrnich rl О Conachar Sligeach, 'a dh' fholbh e '» rainig « taigh a' Bhodaich 'Ic Ceochd. Rinn nigbean a' bbodaich deoch dha de lib' ubhlan rclm '» de bhainne blath, '» thachdadh e.

'S dhealaich mise rin ; 'a thug cud dlionib im air eibhleig, '> broch- an-cail an craileig, 'a brbga paipeir, 's chuir eud air folbh mi le peil - «ir gunna-mhólr 'air rathad-mör gloine gua an d' fh&g eud a'm' ahuidhe '«algh an MO mi.

SECOND VERSION.

TUE HISTORY OF THE CEABIIARNACH.

From John Campbell, Strath Gearloch, Boee-sbire.

f\N the day when O'DoNULL came out to hold right ^ and justice, he saw a young chap coming. His two shoulders wore through his old SUAINAICHB (sleeping coat?) his two oars through his old AIDE lut, his two squat kick-cr-ing tatter-y-sltoes full of cold roadway-isli water, three feet of his sword sideways on the side of his haunch, after the scabbard had ended. He blest with easy true-wise maiden's words.

TUB HISTORY OF TBK OEABHARNACH. 309

O'Donull blest him in the like of his own words.

O'Donull asked him what wag hie art 7

" I could do harping," said the Ceabharnach.

" There are twelve men with me," said O'Donull, " and wo will go to look on them." • " I am willing to do that," said the Ceabharnach.

When they went in O'Donull aeked them to begin. " Hast thon ever heard music, oh Ceabharnach, finer than that?"

" I came past by the Isle of Cold, and I did not hear a screech in it, tliatwas more hideous than that"

" Wouldst thou play a harp thyself, Ceabharnach t" said O'Donull.

" Here is her player, and who should not play !"

" Give him a harp," said O'DonulL

" Well canst thou play a harp," said O'DonnlL

" It is not as thou pleasest but as I please myself, since I am at work."

The mnsic of the Ceabharnach put every harper O'Donull had asleep.

" I will be taking fare thee well," said the Ceabharnach to O'DonulL

" Thou wilt not do that to me," said O'Donull, " tliou must awaken my men."

" I am going to take a turn through Eirinn," said the Ceabharnach, " if I come the way they will see, and if I come not they will be thus with thee."

He left him, and he met with one herding. " Thy master's harpers are asleep, and they will not wake till they are awakened. Go thou and awaken them, and thou wilt get what will make a rich man of theo t "

" How shall I do that!" said the herd.

" Take a tuft of that grass and dip it in water, and shake it on them, and thou wilt awaken them."

He left the man and ho reached SEATIIAM мчи MAC

jio wer нпшьляо тдив.

AH Глвят.в, créât Seathan the aon of the Eari, thirteen mili» rm the western side of Lomraig.

Не «w a young chap coming his two ammldeia were through hia old ¿oat, hie two eara shrcragh hie 'jiii hat, hia shoes full of cold roadway-ian. water, three feet of hia »word iuieways on the aide of his hitnni'h after the acahbard waa «nded.

He aaked him what was hia trade? He said that he cou lii do juggling.

" I her« jungten myself, we wffl g» to bak «t atem."

" I •• willing enough," said the Ceobharaaeb.

" Shew thy juggling, ' aaid the great Seathuo, **Ш1 weieeit1*

ffe put three straws on the beck of hia fiat and he blew them off it.

"If I should get half five marks," aaid one of the kiricf"* lads, " I would make better juggling than that." " I will gire the* that," aaid tbe Ceabharnach.

He put three straws on the back of hia fiat and the fiat went along with the straws.

" Thou art aore, and thoa wüt be sore," aaid hia master ; " my blessing on the hand that gare it to thee."

" I will do other jngglea for thee," aaid the Ceabh-

He caught a hold of hia own ear, and be gave a poll at it

" If I could get half five marks," said another of the king's lads, " I would make a better juggle than that"

" I will give thee that," said the Ceabharnach.

He gave a pull at the ear and the head came away with the ear.

" I am going away," said the Ceabharnach.

" Thou wilt not leave my set of men sa"

" I am for taking a turn through Eirinn. If I

ТНК BISTORT OF THE CBABUARNACH. 3 I I

come the way I will see them, and if I come not they will be so along with thee."

He went away, and he met with a man threshing in a barn. Ile askod him if his work could keep him up.

"It was no more than it could do."

" I," said the Ceabharnach, " will make thee a free man for thy life. There are two of thy master'« lads, one with his fist off, and one with hie head off. Go there and put them on again, and thy master will make thee a free man for life."

"With what shall I bring them alive t "

" Take a tuft of grass, hold it in water, shake it on them, and thou wilt heal them."

lie went away and he came to FEAR CBUIOEAHH MUOII.V,* a nasty man that could not bear a man to go the way of his house, to look at him when lie was taking his food. There were twelve men with axes at the outer gate, and twelve men of swords on the inner goto ; a porter at tlm great door.

They saw a young chap coming, his two shoulders through his old coat, his two ears through lus old hat, his two squat kick-ering tatter-y shoes full of cold roadway-ieh water.

Ho asked their license in to see Fear Chuigeamh Mugha.

Uno of them raised his axe to drive his head off, but so it was that he struck it on his own comrade.

They arose on each other till they killed each other ; and he came to the men of the sword, one raised hie sword to strike off his head, but he cut the head off hie comrade with it, and they all fell to slaying each other.

IIo reach«! the porter ; he caught him by the small of the legs, and ho struck his head on the door. • The nuui of Monitor, Cuije mumhe.

He reached the great man as be sat at his dinner ; he itood at the end of the board.

" Oh evil man," said the king u great tros thy loe before thou earnest here," as he roee to catch hold of hie «word to strike hû head off. His band stack to the sword, and his seat stack to the chair, and be could not rise ; no more could hia wife leave her own place. When he liad done all -he wished he went away, and he met a poor man that was travelling the world.

•' If thou wilt take my adrice," said the Ceabharnach, " I will make a lucky man of thee as long as thou art alive."

" How wilt thou do that Î" said the man.

" The king and the queen are fast in their chairs ; go thou and loose them, and the king will make a great man of thee."

"How shall I loose them t "

" Shake water on them and they will arise."

He went out of that, and he reached ROB MAC- SIIKÜIO Mine LAOAIN with a pain in bis foot for seven years.

He struck palm to bar. The porter asked " Who was there ?"

Ho said there was a leech.

" Many a leech lias come," said the porter. " There- is not a spike on tlio town without a leech's head but one, and may be it is for thy head that one is."

"It might not be," said the Ceabharnach. "Let me in."

" What is putting upon thee, Rob 1 " said the Ceabharnach.

" My foot is taking to me these seven years. She has beat the leech and leeches."

" Arise and stretch out thy foot with the stitch," said the СеаЫшгпасЬ ;" and let's try if thou const

TUE BISTORT OF ТНК СЕАШ1А1ШAC11. 3 13

catch the twelve leeches, or if the twelve leeches will catch thee."

He arose, no man could catch him ; and he himself could catch every.other one.

" I have but one In-gotten, a champion of a girl, and I will give her to tlioo and half my realm."

" Be she good or bad," said the Ceabharnach, " let her be mine or thine."

An order was made for a wedding for the Ceabharnach ; but when they had got the wedding in order, ho was swifter out of tho town than a year-old hare, lie came to TAOO О-Склььлши, who was going to raise the spoil of CAILLICIIB BUIDHNICHR.

A young chap was seen coming, his two shoulders through his old coat, his two ears through his old hat, his two squat kick-ering tattor-y shoes full of cold road- wny-ish water, three feet of his sword sideways on the side of his haunch after the scabbard was ended.

" What's tliis that puts on thee Г said the Ceabharnach. " Hast thou need of men 1 "

" Thou wilt not make a man for mo," said 0-Ccal- laidh.

"Shall I not get a man's share if I do a man's share t"

" What's thy name Г said Taog.

" There is on me (the name of) Ceabharnach Saothrach Suarach Siubhail—the servile sorry strolling kern."

" What art thou seeking for thy service 1"

" I am but asking tliat thou shouldst not forget my drink."

" Whence earnest thou Î "

" From many a place ; but I am an Albanach."

Thoy went to raise the raid of the carlin. They raised the spoil, but they saw the following coming.

3 I 4 Ш8Т HIGHLAND TALES.

" Bo stretching out," said great Taog to the Ceabh- anuich, "Tliou wilt uot make thy lugs at least Whether wouldst thoa rather turn the chase or drive the spoil with thy set of men 1 "

" I would not turn the chase, hut if the chose would turn, we would drive the spoil at least"

The Ceabharnach cut a sharp, hard whistle, and the drove lay down on the road.

He turned to meet them. He caught each one of the slenderest legs, and the biggest head, and he left them stretched logs on head. He returned after the spoil

" Thyself and thy lot of men can hardly drive the spoil"

" The spoil will never get up," said Taog.

He cut u whistle : the drove got up, and ho drove it homo.

It happened that the great man forgot to give the first drink to the Ceabharnach.

" Mine is the half of the spoil," said the Ceabharnach.

" Put is more than much for tlico," said the king.

" Many a time woe I," said the Coabharnach, " and Murcha MacBrian hewing shields and splitting blades ; his was the half of the spoil, and mine was the other half."

" If thou art a comrade of that man, thou shall have half the spoil," said Taog.

But he went away, and he left themselves and the •poil

" Health be with thee, oh Ceabharnach. Arise not for ever."

KACHDRAIDH A' CHBABHARNAICH. 3 I 5

EACHDRAIDH A' CI1EABHARNAICH.

An Uth» 'n d' thalnlg 0 Domhnuill a mach a chumail сЫг agua eeartaia, chunnaic e bglach a' tighinn. Bha 'dba ghuallainn trirt a sbeann suanaiche ; a dha chínala trtd a ahcann aide ; a dha bhrbig cheigeanach, bhreabanach, riobanach, Ian a dli' uisge fuar rodanacli ; tri troldhean dhe'n chlaldheamh air an taobh eiar dhe 'thoin, an deigh ilh'an acabard teireachduinn. Bheannaich < le briaihraibh faraxla, fior-ghlic, mine, maigbdcana. Bheannaich О Domhnuil), dba air domain a bhriatbralbb fein. Dh' f heoraich О Domhnuill deth ciod bu noa da. " Dbeanainn claraaireachd," ara' ал Ceabbanucb. " The da fhear dbeng agam fheln," ara' O Domhnuill, " '« theid «inn a Mirallainn orra." "Tha ml loileach lin a dhtanamh," in* an Ceabharnach.

An nalr • ehaldh lad a itemch dh iarr 0 Domhnuill orra tolaeacb- adh, 'i tholalch lad. " An cual thn саЫ rlamh, a Cheabbarnaicb a 'a brfeagha n» «in ? " an' 0 Dombnuill. " Tbainlg ml wachad air Ifrlnn ; 'f cha chnala ml «gread innte 'a grainnde na tin I " an' an Cwbharnaeh.

"An winneadli tn fein emit, • Cheabharnaich," an' O Domb- null!.

" So a tbeinneadair I—agna Co nach Minncadair 11 an' an Ceabh- arnachl

" Tbugalbh crnlt dha," an' 0 Domhnuill.

" la math a sheinnrai tusa emit I " an' U Domhnuill.

* Cha'n «nn mar thogra* tusa, ach mar a thograa mi fein ; oír il mi Iba 'g obair," ara' eaan.

Chair ceol а Cheabharnalch na-h-uile clanalr a bh' alg O Domhnuill 'na chadal.

"Bithidh mi»' a' gabhail alan kat," an an Ceabhamach ri О Domhnnll.

* Cha dean thu sin ormaa," an' О Domhnuill ! " feumaidh ta mo dhaoln« 'dhuagadh."

•• Tha mi 'd I a thoirt agrtob feadh Elrinn," an' an Ceabharnacb ; " ma thig mi 'n ralbad clii iad, ago« mur d' thig biodh lad mar ain aged fein."

Dh' fhag и • agua thacbalr e air fear a buachaillrarhd.

" Tha clanalrean do mbaighitir 'nan cad»l," an' an Ceabbamach ria a' bhaachallle," agua cha dùiag iad gna an diiiagear lad. Falbh thai* agaa dhbg lad, 'a gheibh Iba na ni dnine beartach dliiot "

"Cionniu a ni roi lin?" thuirt am buachaill«.

3l6 • WK8T HIGHLAND TALES.

" Gabh bad de'n f bcur sin, agua tnm tnn an uiig' e, agns crath orr' e, '» diiUgidh tu iad." an' an Coabharnach. П1Г f bag e'n duine, '.i rbinig e i Seathan mbr Шс an loria, tri mile deug an taobh liar de Lumraig.

Cbnnnalc e oglach a* tiirhinn. Bha 'dha ghualainn trtol a sheann »uanaicho, a dim chluaia triol a ibeann aide, a dha bhrbig Ian a dh' ulege fuar, rbdanach, Iri troidhejn dhe 'u chlaidheamh air au taobh liar dbc thöin, an déigli dh'an scabard teireacMainn.

Dh' fbeoraich • dlieth ciod bu ab» dha. Tbuirt e gu'n deanadh e cleaaachd.

" Tha cleusatchean agam fein ; theid linn a dh' ambare orra."

" Tha mi glë dhebnach," an' an Ceabhurnach.

" Nochd do chleasachd," an' an Seathan mor," ach am faic alnn e.

Chuir e tri strabliaii air cul a dhuirn agua ihéld e dheth iad.

" Na 'm faighinn-u," oraa fear de gbillean an rtgb," leilh cbiiig mhairg, dhèanainn cleaaachd a b' fhearr na lin.

" Bheir mise gin duit," an' an Ceabharnacb.

Chuir e tri itràibliean air cul a dhiiirn, agus dh' f halbh an dom maille ría na straibhean.

"'I'ha thu goirt, ague bidh tu guiri," an' a mhaighstir." Mo bheannachd air an lalmh a thug dhuit e."

" Ni mi cleaaachd eile dhuit," an' an Oabharnacli.

Itug e air a' chínala aige feln, agua thug e larruinn oirre.

"Na 'm faighlnn-sa leith cluiig mhelrg," araa feare' deghillean' an rtgh, " dhèannain cleaaachd a b' fhearr na sin.

" Bheir miae ain duit," an* an Ceabharnach.

Thug e tarruinn air a chluaia, 'a tliainlg an ceann Ici« a cblnaii.

" Tha mi 'faibli," an' an Ceabharnach.

" Cha 'n flikg thu mo chuid daoine-яа agam mar ain."

" Tha mi 'dot a tlioirt sgrtob fuadh Eirinn ; ma thig ml 'a ralbad chl mi iad, agua mar d' thig biodh lad mar ein agad fain," an' an Ceabharnach.

Dh' fhalbh e agus thachair e air daine 'bualadh ann an aabhal, agus dh' fbeoraich e dheth am b' urrainn 'obair a chumail sua».

" Cha mhíir nach b' uilear dhomh e," an' am fear bualaidh.

"Ni nds'," an an Ceabharnach, "duine suor dli'iol ri d' bheb. Tha dithls de gbillean do mhaighstir, 's fear 's an dorn dheth, agua fear eile 's an cean deth ; falbh thus' agus cuir orr' iad, 'a nl da mhaighstir duine saoibhir dhbt ri d' bheo."

" Co leis a bhelr ml beb lad?" an' am fear a bha 'bualadh.

" Gabh bad foilair ; turn ann an uisg 'e, crath orr' e, agus nl thu 'n lelgheas," an' an Ceabharnach.

КАПП Hl M DU A CBEABHARNAICII. 317

1>1Г fliallili e, aguí lhainig e go fear chiiigeamh Mliimiha, daine moeach nach fuilingeadh do dhuine Mhol ralbad a thaighe ; gu h- kraid un uair a bhiodh e 'gabhiil a bhMhe, Bha dha dheug a luehd tbuadhan air a' gheata 'muigh ; a dha dheug a luchd chlaidbean air a' gheata 'lUigh ; doreair air an dorui mhbr.

Chnnnalc i>d bglach a' tighinn ; a dha ghnalainn Inj a ibeann «uanaiche ; a dha chluaii trid a iheann aide ; a dha blirbig cheigean. ach, bhreabanach, riobanach, uni a dh' aupe fuar, rodanach.

Dh' iarr e 'chead orra 'íUlgh a dh' (halclnn Fear Chulgeamh Mhumha. Thog fear dhiu a thnadh gas an ceann a char dheth, ach '• ann a Um.iil e air a chompanach L Dh' «Irich iad air a che'ile, gui an do mharbh lad a che'ile. Thainig e gu luchd nan clhidhran. Thog fear a chlaldhe gui an ceann a chur dlieth, ach ghearr e 'n cennn d'à chompanach, IRUS dh* eirich ind uile 'mharbhadh a chtfile. Rkinig e 'n doraair. Rug e air chaol chasan air agus bhuail e chitann rit an dorut. Hainig « 'n Duine mor, aguí e 'na ihuidbe

• ig a dhithit Sheis e aig ceann a' bhuird.

"O'Dhroch Dhuine I" an' an righ, " bu mhùr do chalí mu 'n d' thainig thu 'n so I " agua e 'g e"iridh 'a a' breith air a' chlaidhf, guf a' cheann a Ihoirt deth. Lean a lamh ría a chlaidhf, agua lean • mil à» ria a' chaithir, agua cha b' urrainn a bbean a h-kite fein fhàgail.

An uair a rinn e na h-aile ni 'Im rahiann lei> dh' fhalbh e, agni thachair • alr dulne bochd a bha 'falbh an t-Moghall. " Ыа ghabhaj tu mn chomlialrl«-aa," an' an Ceabliamtch tía ал dub« bbochd, " ni mi daine lona dlilot fhad 'i 1a beö thu."

" donnai a ni thu lin 7" ara' an duine bochd.

" Tha 'n rtgh agai •' bhan-righ le 'm maean ceangailt« r¡ 'n eaith- richean ; falbh thus' aguí fuaagail lad, aguí ni 'n righ dulne mor dhiot," ara' an Ceabharnach.

• Clonnoa a dh' fhaugla* mil' iad ?" ara' an dnlcn bochd. " Crath auf' orra agu» eiridh ¡ml," an' an Ceabbamach.

• Dh' fli.ill.li e ai a' tin, agua rainlg • Rob Mac Shcoic Mhic •' Lagain, aguí e fuidh eucail 'na chola fad thcachd bliadhna. Bbuail'

• bu ri crann. Dh' fheóraicb an doraair со 'ЫГ aun. Tbuirt eaaa RU 'robb leighlche.

• '8 lomadb leighicbe 'Ihkinlg," an' an doruir ; « cha "n '«U «ann «tob 'a a' bhaile gun cheann leighich' ach an t-aon ; agua, dh' fhaododh e 'bhith gar h-ann airaon do chinn-aa 4ha 'm fear sinn."

• Cha 'n fhaodadh," ars' aa (Vabhainx-h ; * leig a itigb mi* ••(',,„I a ib« 'car oct a Rob?"ал' an Ceabharnach.

• Tha, mo chai a' gabbail rium o cheann ibeacbd bliadhna. Dh'

WKST HIGHLAND TALBB.

fhairtlich i lir leigh agua leighichean,r ana Bob Mac Shcok le a' (.again.

" Sin do chas naît," an' an Ctabharoach, * dh' fbcochaina am b*lr Ihu air an da leigh dheng, no 'm beir an da leigh dbcng oct."

Dh' eirich e. Cha bbeireadh duioe aun biih unan, agía bbeir- udh e fein air na h-uile fear eile l

" Cha 'n eil agam ach aon-gbin boadhach nighinn," «na Rob, "ngu« bbeir midhuit i, aguí leitli rao rioghachd."

" Math DO olc i," an' an Ceabharoach, "bidh agamja no agad fein."

Cbaldh ard a ehnr alr banal« do 'n Cheabharaach ; ach *nuair a Mm ¡ad an delgn a' bhanaU ullacbadb, bu luaith* e ai a' bhaile na gekrr-bblladhnacb. Thainig e gu Taog mör O Ceallaidn, agtu e Muí a thogail creach na bauliche Bnldbnicbe.

Chunncai bglach a' tighinn,

Л dha ghualainn Ir'ul a iheann nianaiche ;

Л dha chluaU trid a shtann aide ;

A dha bhrbig cheigeanacb, bhreabanach, rlobanacb,

l.hn a dh' uiige fuar, rodanacli;

Trl troldhean dhe 'n chlaidheamh

Air an taobh liar d'à dheireadh.

An dvigh do 'n truaill teireachdainn.

"Clod ao 'i l ¡u 'cur ort?" an' an Ceabharnach ri Taog mor O Ceallaidh, ' Am bheil feum dhaoin' ort?"

" Cha dian thuia duine dhomh," ara' 0 Ceallaidc.

" Nach falgh ml caid fir ma ni mi cuidar?" an' an Ceabh- arnacli.

" С* uinin a th' ort ?" ana Taog.

" Tim Ceabliarnacli aaotbrach, iiiarach alnbball orm," an' eaan.

" Ciod a tha thn 'g iummlli ainon do ibeirbliie ? " area Taog. " Cha 'n 'eil ach gun thu 'dhèanamb dearmad dibh' orm," an' an Ceabhamach.

" Co ai a thalnig tbu ?" ana Taog.

" A lomodh ait', ach U Albannacb mi," an' eaan.

Dh' fhulbh lad a thogatl creacb na caillicbe. Tbog iad a' chrach, ach chunnaic iad an toir a* tighinn.

" 1)1 VnirâJli ai," aria Taog mbr rii a' Cheabharnacli. " Cha dean ibiiaa do cbaian co-dhiu. Co 'il fèarr Icat un tbir a pblllcodh na 'chreacb lomaln le d' cliuld daoine."

"Cha philleor an toir ach na 'm pilleadh an toir dh' iom- aineamaid a' chreacb co-dhiu."

KACHDRAIDH A CHXABHABNAICH. 319

Ghearr an Ceabbarnach fead chaol, chruaidh, '» luidh a cbreich air яп ratbad-mhor. Phill • 'n coinneamb na toir.

Rug e air na h-uile fear a bu chaoile cas agua a bu mho ceinn, '* dh' fhag « lad 'nan slneadh cas air cbeann. l'bill e 'n dcldh na miche.

" II dona 'dh' ¡omaineai ta if m aguí do chntd daoine chreach," an' an Ceabbarnach.

" Cha 'n ¿¡rich a' chreach pu bratb," ana Taog.

Qhearr • fead, '• dh' elrich a' cbreach, 'i dh' iomain e dhacb- aidh iad.

Thacbair gu 'n do dhearmald an Daine mor an dibh a thoirt air ti» do 'n Cheabhirnach.

" U leamia leith na creicbf," an' in Oabharntch.

"Tha 'n lin tnllleadh a'i cui iluit " an' an rtgh.

* Is minig a bha mil'," an' an Ceabhamach, " ngus Murclndli HaeUrian a' gearradh agiath '• a' agoltadh Unn ; bu leis-san leith eile," an' an Ceabbarnach.

" M« '§ companaeh thu do 'n duine ein gheibli thu leith na crelche," ana Taog.

Ach dh' fbalbh t, 'i dh' fhag e lad fein aguí a* chreach.

Slàn leat a' Cbeabbamalch ; na eirich gn bràth.

8. A third version of lliii cnrioni taie wu told to me in South Uilt, by MacPhie. It waa тегу like the Yenion leid by Jamen Wilion, blind fiddler in Iilay.

It ii evidently a compoiiuon fallen to bita, and mended with pro««, and it ii equally clear that it pointa to Ireland, though the hero wai made a Scotchman by the three old men.

Ai a picture of bygone mannen, thin ii cnrioui, and I know nothing at all like it in any collection of popular talea.

I believe it to be some bardie recitation half-forgotten. It ii •aid that in the mouth of one reciter in Iilay, the itory need to lait for four hour*.

I lately (September 1860) beard MacPbie repeat hii venion in part. It wai a mixture of the two version» here giren, and a firth, Iriih grandee, wai added.

ХУЛА

THE TALE OF THE SHI КГ ¥ LAD, THE WIDOWS SON.

From John Dewar, Arrochar, June 1860.

ГП ITERE was at some time or other before now a -*- widow, and she had one son. She gave him good schooling, and she was wishful that he should choose a trade for himself ; but he said he would not go to learn any art, but that he would be a thief.

His mother said to him, " If that is the art that thou art going to choose for thine ownself, thine end is to be hanged at the bridge of Baile Cliath,* in Tjrinn.

But it was no matter, he would not go to any art, but to be a thief ; and his mother was always making a prophecy to him that the end of him would be, hanging at the Bridge of Baile Cliath, in Eirinn.

On a day of the days, the widow was going to the church to hear the sermon, and was asking the Shifty Lad, her son, to go with her, and that he should give over his bad courses ; bnt he would not go with her ; but ho said to her, " The first art of which thou hear- est mention, after thou host come out from the sermon, is the art to which I will go afterwards."

She went to the church full of good courage, hoping that she would hear some good thing.

• Dnblin.

ТНК TALK OP ТПВ SHIFTY LAD. 32 l

He vent away, and be went to a tuft of wood that was near to the church ; and he went in hiding in a place where he could see hie mother when she should come out of the church; and as soon as she come out he shouted, " Thievery ! thievery ! thievery I " She looked about, but she could not make out whence the voice was coming, and she went home. He ran by the way of the short cut, and he was at the house before her, and he was seated within beside the fire when she came home. He asked her what tale she had got ; and shu said that she hod not got any tale at all, but that " thievery, thievery, thievery, was the first speech she heard when she come out of the church."

He said " That was the art that he would have."

And she said, as she was accustomed to say, " Thine ending is to be hanged at the bridge of Baile Claith, in Eirinn."

On the next day, his mother herself thought, that as nothing at all would do for her son but that he should be a thief, that she would try to find him a good aid-to-loaming ; and she went to the godaiche dubh of Aachaloinne, the block gallows bird of Aaclm- loinne, a very cunning thief who was in that place ; and though they had knowledge that he was given to stealing, they were not finding any way for catching him. The widow asked the Block lioguo if he would take her son to teach him roguery. The Black Rogue said, " If he were a clever hid that he would take him, and if there were a way of making a thief of him that he could do it ; and a covenant was made between the Black Rogue and the Shifty Lad.

When the Shifty Lad, the widow's son, was making ready for going to the Black Bogue, his mother was giving him counsel, and she said to him, " It i* against my will that thou art going to thievery ; and I

322 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

was telling thee, that the end of thee is to be hanged at tlio bridge of Bailo С Hal h, Kr inn;" but the Shifty Lad went home to the Block Bogue.

The Black Bogue was giving the Shifty Lad every knowledge he might for doing thievery ; he used to tell him about the cunning things that ho must do, to get a chanco to steal a thing ; and when tho Block Bogue thought that the .Shifty Lad was good enough at learning to bo taken out with him, ho used to take him out with him to do stealing ; and on a day of these days the Black Bogue said to his hid,

" We are long enough thus, we must go and do something. There is a rich tenant near to us, and he has much money in his chest It was he who bought all that there was of cattle to be sold in the country, and ho took them to tho fair, and he sold them ; he has got the money in his chest, and this is the time to bo at him, before the people are paid for their lot of cattle ; and unless we go to seek the money at this very hour, when it is gathered together,* we shall not got the some chance again."

The Shifty Lad was as willing as himself ; they went away to tho house, they got in at the coming on of the night, and they went up upon the loft,f and they went in hiding up there ; and it was the night of SAMIIAIN, Halloween ; and there assembled many people within to keep the Savoin hearty as they used to do. They sat together, and they were singing songs, and at fun burning the nuts ;J and at merry-making.

The Shifty Lad was wearying that the company

* Round to each other.

• 1The lull meant, is the space in the rnof of a cottage which ia above tbe rafters, and is used as a kind of store.

t See Dewar's note at the Qaelic for his account of this.

THE TALE OP ТПЕ SHIFTY LAD. 323

was not scattering ; he got up and he went down to the byre, and he loosed the bands off the necks of the cattle, and ho returned and he went np upon the loft again. The cnttlo began goring each other in the byre, and roaring. All that were in the room ran to keep the cattle from each other till they could be tied again ; and in the time while they were doing this, the Shifty Lad went down to the room and he stole the nnta with him, and he went up upon the loft again, and he lay down at tho back of the Black Bogue.

There was a great leathern hide at the back of the Black Bogue, and the Shifty Lad had a needle and thread, and he sewed the skirt of the Black Bogue's coat to the leathern hide that was at his back ; and when tho people of tho house came back to the dwelling room again, their nuts were away ; and they were seeking their nuts ; and they thought that it was some one who had come in to play them a trick that had taken away their nuts, and they sat down at the side of the fire quietly and silently.

Said tho Shifty Lad to the Black Bogue, " I will crack a nut."

"Thou shalt not crack (one)," said the Black Bogue ; " they will hear thee, and we shall be caught."

Said the Shifty Lad, " I never yet was a Savain night without cracking a nut," and he cracked one.

Those who were seated in the dwelling-room heard him, and they said,

" There is some one up on the loft cracking our nute, we will go and catch them."

When tho Black Bogue heard that, he sprang off the loft and he ran out, and the hide dragging at the tail of his coat Every ono of them shouted that there was tho Black Bogue stealing the hide with him. The

324 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

Black Rogue fled, and the people of the house after him ; and he was a great distance from the house before he got the hide torn from him, and (iras able) to leave them. But in the time that the people of the house were running after the Black Rogue, the Shifty Lad carao down off the loft ; he went up about the house, lie hit upon the chest whore the gold and the silver was ; he opened the chest, and he took out of it the hags in which the gold and silver was, that was in the chest ; and he took with him a load of the bread and of the butter, and of the cheese, and of everything that was better than another which he found within ; and he was gone before the people of the house came back from chasing the Black Rogue.

When the Black Rogue reached his home, and he had nothing, his wife said to him, " How hast thou failed this journey 1 "

Then the Black Rogue told his own tale ; and he was in great fury at the Shifty Lad, and swearing that he would serve him out when he got a chance at him.

At the end of a little while after that, the Shifty Lad came in with a load upon him.

Said the wife of the Block Rogue, "But, I fancy that thou art the better thief !"

The Black Rogue said not a word till the Shifty Lad showed the bags that he had full of gold and silver ; then, said the Black Rogue, " But it is thou that wert the smart lad ! "

They mode two halves of the gold and silver, and the Black Itoguo got the one half, and the Shifty Lad the other half. When the Bluck Rogue's wife saw the Rharo that came to them, she said, "Thou thyself art the worthy thief ! " and she had more respect for him after that, than she had for the Black Rogue himself

At the nul of a few weeks after that, a wedding

ТНК TALE OP THE SHIFTY LAD. 325

was to be in the neighbourhood ; and it was the custom of the country, when any who were well off were askeil, that they should send some gift or other to the people of the wedding. There was a rich tenant, and he was asked ; and ho desired his herd to go to the mountain moor and bring home a wether for the people of the wedding. • The herd went up the mountain and he got the wether, and he was going home with it ; and he had it on his back when he was going past the house of the BJack Rogue.

Said the Shifty Lad to his master, "What wager wilt tliou lay that I do not steal the wether from the back of that man yet, before ho reaches the house."

Said the Black Rogue, " I will lay thee a wager of a hundred marks that thou canst not ; how shouldet thou steal the thing that is on his back !"

" Howsoever I do it, I will try it,"said the Shifty Lad.

"Well, then, if thou dost'it," said the Black Rogue, " I will give thee a hundred marks."

" It is a bargain," said the Shifty Lad ; and with that he went away after the herd.

The herd had to go through a wood, and the Shifty Lad took the ground that was hidden from him until he got before him ; and he put some dirt in his shoe, and he set his shoe on the road before the herd, and he himself wont in hiding ; and when the herd came forward, and he saw the shoe, he said, " But thou art dirty, and though thou art, if thy fellow were there I would clean then ;" and he went past

The Shifty Lai} lifted the shoe, and he ran round about and he was before the herd, and he put his other •hoe on the road before him. When the herd came forward and saw the other shoe on the roed before him, he said to himself, " But there it the fellow of the dirty shoe."

W3ST ШСШ-ДЛБ

set the wether on die ground, and he aid то [ will retara back now, and I will до the dirty ihoe, and I will :iemn it, and I shall hare two good ihoe* for my Onanie ; and be *™ swiâly buck again.

Pile Я1иЛу Lad ran íwiñiy. and he stoie with him die wether, and ле tuck w.th. aim ùie TWO shoes ; and he went home tu hia master, and be gos a hundred murka from lua master.

1Ъе herí went home and he tcld !iia own master hioaeLi how it 1ыл1 biiUllen bim. Hia master scolded the herd ; and the next ¿ay he sent him aeain op the mountain to seek a kid, instead cf the wether he had Int.

Ib* herd went awmy to the ЪШ md he got held of л ¡ci L, an. 1 he tial it ; he pat it on Lia bock, and he went л '.»ay to gn home with it The Slurty Lad »w him md Ъл went Vi the woo« I, and he wae there before th« herd ; anil he went in hiiung, and he becan at bleating Hke the wether. The herd thought that it was the wether thai wa» m it ; and he pot the kid off him, and be left it at the side of the rrod. and he went to seek the wether. At the time when the herd waa seeking the wether, the Shifty Lad went and he stole the kid with him. and he went home with it to the Black Rogue

When, the herd went back to where be liad left the kid, the kid wa« gone, the kid was not in it ; be •ought the kid, and when he could not find the kid, he went home and he told hia master how it had befallen hirri ; and hia master scolded him, bnt there was no help for ¡L

On the next day the tenant asked his herd to go np the mountain and bring home a slot ; to be sore that be did not lose it The herd went np the mountain, and he got a good fat etot, and he was driving it home. The Shifty Lad saw him, and he said to the Black Rogue,

ТПЕ TALE OP TUB SHIFTY LAD. 327

" Tugnin, come along, and we will go and try to steal the etot from the herd when he is going through the wood with it."

The Black Bogue and the Shifty Lad went away to the wood before the herd ; and when the herd was going through the wood with the slot, the Black Rogue was in the one place baa-ing, and the shifty lad in another bleating like a goat The herd heard them, and he thought that he would get the wether and the kid again. Ho tied the slot to a true, and went all about tlio wood seeking thowotlior and the kid, and ho sought them till he was tired. While ho was seeking the wether and the kid, the Shifty Lad went, and he stole with him the etot, and he took it home with him to the house of the Black Rogue. The Block Rogue went homo after him, and they killed the slot, and they put it in hiding, and the Black Rogue's wife had good puddings for them that night. When the herd came back to the tree win-re he had loft the etot tied, the etot was not there. He knew that the stot had been stolen. He went home and he told his master how it had happened, and his master scolded him, but there was no help for it

On the next day his master asked the herd to go up the mountain and to bring home a wether, and not let it come off hie back at all till he should come home, whatever he might see or hear. The herd went away, and he went up the mountain and he got the wether, > and he succeeded in taking that wether home.

The Black Rogue and the Shifty Lad went on stealing till they had got much money, and they thought that they had better buy a drove (of cattle) and go to • the fair with it to sell, and that people would think that it woe at drovering they had made the money that they liad got The two went, and they bought a great drove

.HUH -VT 'ПСИ

iKL her «м* -» k i'air Je»: -mm -лг<ж, tb* тат rom. tiarn. ZLav oía be LTPTB. *ca ¿ьл* ^ot

lili 2uneT ÛC ^fttn nn LtíV »Р£Д ;Л*&Т О "О и fini»

'УТвв -.her »em- ja. ia ^er, JÍBT mm л. fáltam OK

' Ье- 'АО 14 ь чП ШО. fa*> -fiiiftir 1^4. ЯШ. 3fc til» Я^дт^Г

•1л*» ш 'дП. я» se» 'h» .pilen* «me «v .piloii«. л ;fa» еио. jir d» I мни ас jiL

Hier •««•*; ш -птя J» ^ilen» чва. nui imy noiTTTwy jtl шаш .t» .'jaitL die •Hi'iiy r j.ft -xr «TBK ana. * aaih- -л ш. ав ,pL- owa. -Jut -«R лву UM>w4uafc л JBKOK3&.

лзццит. I -nu зу .i mveei£ iras. ' ML ш Le от охни oís iwn. ян! IB »ш 'л 'Ьл 31«сх Hacia. ' Jura, iras? ша от. joú. -.vrusi I on. ámt Аштвг L wdL diaka лгу ^%, •&£ 1мп ta -Juni 1ж зж iamu.

Т!ш ЗЫк. Здрш Ииаг ±е nai» and. i» шш£ ** •Butt? L«¿ unit i¿ riu> arth. mu u. iia mit ir' г aise

i* illlilv "^ Min. IL.- лд и|^ч, mil -¿ш 1.1

.et лш. üiwib.

riie iliufcsr •'jrt tuait, du жпг£ off аш звыс. de «ui т» iut 3lacic HOÇIBV d T"iim ii^adt: &•& ont ^|ф jKBtt. ^f'M^'inr 'д111^ ^ JB зцщт m 111П|рп1д ТУ aun wuiiilBC 37- 'Швв, iiiat tmiuiiac лшгч ou ошш bar

UP -11Ш1Л11& I TÍW «lilU'nif 31ТГ Hffn ¿ir ÍHilipin,

<iiiiii,t -¿17 jaa iir uuiunc aie x

*««£ àe Hank Sdcn«. * I wül lay ä to% ошу jtanxr wimc x ie .

wíuatia aiii I wu. isc ÎUB» â:«ra. r Т'д* biutk Лифв» j>n ui* ir.r-í úeoc ;u» iwci, od »* А'а-Лу LHÍ ¿юг acá «p akä ; MUÍ vibca ice Äavfty Lâii bBui t&a« à« Kack E;rat was tlnft

THE TALK OF ТПЕ 8ШРТТ LAD. 329

against the gallows, he said to him, " Now, when thou wantest to come down, whistle, and if thou art well pleased where thon art, shake thy legs."

When the Black Bogue was a little blink above, he bcgnn to shako his legs and to kick ; and the Shifty Lad would say, " Oh I art thou not funny I art thou not funny I art thou not • funny I When it seems to thee that thou art long enough above whistle."

But the Black Bogue has not whistled yet The Shifty Lad tied the cord to the lower end of the tree of the gallows till the Black Bogue was dead ; then he wont whore ho was, and he took the money out of hie pouch, and he said to him, " Now, since thou hast no longer any use for this money, I will take care of it for thee." And he went away, and he left the Block Bogue hanging there. Then he went home where was the house of the Black Bogue, and his wife asked where was his master t

The Shifty Lad said, " I left him where he was, upraised above the earth."

The wife of the Block Bogue asked and asked him about her man, till at last ho told her, but he said to her, that he would marry her himself. When she heard that, she cried that the Shifty Lad had killed his master, and he was nothing but a thief. When the Shifty Lad heard that he fled. The chase was set after him ; but he found means to go in hiding in a cave, and the chase went past him. He was in the cave all night, and the next day he went another way, and ho found means to fly to Eirinn.

He reached the house of a wright, and he cried at the door, " Let me in."

"Who art thou t " said the wright

" I am a good wright, if thou hast need of such," said the Shifty Lad,

3JO WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

The wright opened the door, and he let in the Shifty Lad, and the Shifty Lad began to work at carpentering along with the wright.

When the Shifty Lad was a day or two in their house, he gave a glance thither and a glance hither tilxiut the house, and he said, " 0 choin ! what a poor house you have, and the king's store-house so near you."

" What of that," said the wright

" It is," said the Shifty Lad, " that yon might get plenty from the king's store-house if you yourselves were smart enough."

The wright and his wife would say, " They would put us in prison if we should begin at the like of that"

The Shifty Lad was always saying that they ought to break into the king's store-house, and they would find plenty in it ; but the wright would not go with him ; but the Shifty Lad took with him some of the tools of the wright, and he went himself and he broke into the king's store-house, and he took with him a load "' I'10 butter-and of the cheese of the king, and he took it to the house of the wright. The tilings pleased the wife of tho wright well, and she was willing that her own husband should go there the nest night The wright himself went with his lad the next night, and they got into the storehouse of the king, and they took with them great loads of each thing that pleased them best of all that was within in the king's storehouse.

But tho king's people missed the butter and the cheese and the other things that had boon taken out of tho storehouse, and they told tho king how it had happened.

Tho king took the counsel of the Seanagal about the bent way of catching tho thieves and the counsel

THE TALK OP TOE SHIFTY LAD. 33 I

that the Seanagal gaye them was that they should set a hogshead of soft pitch under the hole where they were coming in. That was done, and the next night the Shifty Lad and his master went to break into the king's storehouse.

• The. Shifty Lad put his master in before him, and the master went down into the soft pitch to his тегу middle, and he could not get out again. The Shifty Lad went down, and he put a foot on each of his mas- tor's shoulders, and he put out two loads of the king's butter and of the choeso at the hole; and at Hie last time, when he was coming out, he swept the head off his master, and he took the head with him. and he left the trunk in the hogshead of pitch, and he went home with the butter and with the cheese, and he took homo the head, and he buried it in the garden.

When the king's people went into the storehouse, they found a body without a head in the hogshead of pitch ; but they could not make out who it was. They tried if they could find any one at all that could know him by the clothes, but his clothes were covered with pitch so that they could not make him out The king asked the counsel of the Seanagal about it ; and the counsel that the Seanagal gave was, that they should set the trunk aloft on the pointe of the spears of the soldiers, to be carried from town to town, to see if they could find any one at all that would take sorrow for it ; or to try if they could hear any one that would make a painful cry when they should see it ; or if they should not see (one crying) one that should seem about to make a painful cry when the soldiers should bo going past with it. The body was taken out of the hogshead of pitch, and set on the pointe of the spears ; and the soldiers were bearing it aloft on the points of their long wooden spears, and they were going from town to

332 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

town with it; and when they were going past the house of the wright, tbo, wright's wife made a tortured scream, and swift the Shifty Lad cut himself with the adze ; and he kept saying to the wright's wife, " The cut is not so bad as thou tllinkest."

The commander-m-chief, and his lot of soldiers, came in and they asked,

" What ailed the housewife?'

Said the Shifty Lad, " It is that I have just cut my foot with the adze, and she is afraid of blood ;" and he would say to the wife of the wright, " Do not be so much afraid ; it will heal sooner than thou thinkest."

The soldiers thought that the Shifty Lad was the wright, and that the wife whom they had was the wife of the Shifty Lad ; and they went out, and they went from town to town ; but they found no one besides, but the wife of the wright herself that made cry or scream when they were coming past her.

They took the body home to the king's house ; and the king took another counsel from his Seanagal, and that was to hang the body to a tree in an open place, and soldiers to watch it that none should take it away, and the soldiers to be looking if any should come the way that should take pity or grief for it,

The Shifty Lad came past them, and ho saw them ; he went and he got a horse, and he put a keg of whisky on each side of the horse in a sack, and he went past the soldiers with it, as though he were hiding from them. . The soldiers thought that it was so, that he had taken something away from them, or that he had-something which he ought not to have ; and some of them ran after him and they caught the old horse and the whisky ; but the Shifty Lad fled, and he left the old horse and the whisky with them. The soldiers took the horse and the kegs of whisky back to where the body was hang-

ТНК ТА1Л OF THM SHIFTY LAD. $33

log against the mast They looked what was in the kegs ; and when they understood that it was whisky that was in them, they got a drinking cup, and they began drinking until at last every one of them was drunk, and they lay and they slept When the Shifty Lad saw that, that the soldiers were laid'down and asleep and drunk, he returned and he took the body off the mast lie set it crosswise on the horse's back, and he took it home ; then he went and he buried the body in the garden where the head was.

When the soldiers awoke out of their sleep, tho body was stolon away ; they had for it but to go and tell it to the king. Then the king took the counsel of the Seanagal ; and the Seanagal said to them, all that were in his presence, that his counsel to them was, to take out a great black pig that was there, and that they should go with her from town to town ; and when they should come to any place where the body was buried, that she would root it up. They-went and they got tho black pig, and they were going from farm to farm with her, trying if they could find out where the body was buried. They went from house to house with lier till at last they came to the house where the shifty Lad and the wright's widow were dwelling. When they arrived they lot the pig loose about the grounds. The Shifty Lad said that he himself was sure that thirst and hunger was on them ; that they had Iwtter go into the house and that they would get meat nnd drink ; and that they should lot thoir weariness from off them, in the time when the pig should bo seeking about his place.

They went in, and the Shifty Lad asked the wright's widow that she should set meat and drink before the men. The widow of the wright set meat and drink on the board, and she set it before them ; and.

3)4 ОТЕЭТ HIGHLAND TALBa

in the time while they were eating their meat, the Shifty Lad went out to aee after the pig ; and the pig had just hit upon the body in the garden ; and the Shifty Lad went and he got a great knife and he cut the head off her, and he buried herself and her head beside the body of the wright in the garden.

When those who had the care of the pig came ont, the pig was not to be seen. They asked the Shifty Lad if he had seen her ; he said that he had seen (her), that her head was np and ahe was looking upwards, and going two or three steps now and again ; and they went with great haste to the aide where the Shifty Lad said that the pig had gone.

When the Shifty Lad found that they had gone ont of sight, he set everything in snch a way that they should not hit upon the pig. They on whom the care of the pig was laid went and they sought her every way that it was likely she might be. Then when they could not find her, they had for it but to go to the king's house and tell how it had happened.

Then the counsel of the Seanagal was taken again ; and the counsel that the Seanagal gave them was, that they should set their soldiers ont about the country at free quarters ; and at whatsoever place they should get pig's flesh, or in whatsoever place they should gee pig's fleah, unless those people could shew how they had got the pig's flesh that they might have, that those were the people who killed the pig, and that had done every evil that had been done.

The counsel of the Seanagal was taken, and the soldiers sent out to free quarters about the country ; and there was a band of them in the house of the wright's widow where the Shifty Lad was. The Wright's widow gave their supper to the soldiers, and •ome of the pig's flesh was made ready for them ; and

TUR TALB OF THB BHIFTT LAD. 53 ;

the soldiers were eating the pig's flesh, and praising it exceedingly. The Shifty Lad understood what was the matter, but he did not let on. The soldiers were set to lie out in the bam ; and when they wore asleep the Shifty Lad wont out and he killed them. Then he went as fast as lie could from house to house, where the soldiers were at free quarters, and he set the rumour afloat* amongst the people of the houses, that the soldiers had been sent out about the country to rise in the night and kill the people in their beds ; and he found (means) to make the people of the country believe him, so that the people of each house killed all the soldiers that were asleep in their barns ; and when the soldiers did not come home at the time they should, some went to see what liad happened to them ; and when they arrived, it was so that they found the soldiers dead in the bams where they had been asleep ; and the people of each house denied that they knew how the soldiers had been put to death, or who had done it

The people who were at the ransacking for the soldiers, went to the king's house, and they told how it had happened ; then the king sent word for the Seana- gal to get counsel from him ; the Seanagal came, and the king told how it had happened, and the king asked counsel from him. This is the counsel that the Seanagal gave the king, that he should make a feast and a ball, and invite the people of the country ; and if the man who did the evil should be there, that he was the man who would be the boldest who would be there, and that he would ask the king's daughter herself to dance with him. The people were asked to the feast ' and the dance ; and amongst the rest the Shifty Lad WM asked. The people came to the feast, and amongst

• Coir e • ceil.

ШОН1Л1Ш TALB.

the net came the Shifty Lad. When the feast vas past, the donee began ; and the Shifty Lad went and he asked the king's daughter to dance with him ; and the Seanagal had a vial full of black stufig and the Seanagal put a black dot of the staff that was in the vial on the Shifty Lad. But it seemed to the king's daughter that her hair was not well enough in order, and she wont to a aide chamber to put it right ; and the Shifty Lad went in with her ; and when she looked in the glass, he also looked in it, and he saw the black dot that the Seanagal had put upon him, When they had danced till the tune of music was finished, the Shifty Lad went and he got a chance to steal the vial of the Seanagal from him unknown to him, and he put two black dote on the Seanagal, and one black dot on twenty other men besides, and he put the vial bock again where he found it.

Between that and the end of another while, the Shifty Lad came again and he asked the king's daughter to dance. The king's daughter had a vial also, and she put a black dot on the face of the Shifty Lad ; but the Shiny Lad got the vial whipped out of her pocket, unknown to her ; and since there were two black dote on him, he put two dots on twenty other men in the company, and four black dots on the Seanagal Then when the dancing woe over, some were sent to see who was the man on whom were the two black dots. When they looked amongst the people, they found twenty men on whom there were two block dots, and there were four black dots on the Seanagal ; and the Shifty Lad found (means) to go swiftly where the king's daughter was, and to slip the viol bock again into her pocket The* Seanagal looked and he had his black vial ; the king's daughter looked and she had her own vial ; then the Seanagal and the king took

TUE TALK OP THE 8HIFTT LAD. 337

counsel ; and the last counsel that they made was that the king should come to the company, and say, that the man who had done every trick that had been done, must be exceedingly clever ; if he would come forward and give himself up, that he should get the king's daughter to marry, and the one half of the kingdom while the king was alive, and the whole of the kingdom after the king's death. And every one of those who hod the two black dots on their faces came and they said that it was they who had done every cleverness that hod been done. Then the king and hie high council wont to try how the matter should bo settled ; and the matter which they settled was, that all llif men who had the two black dote on their faces should be put together in a chamber, and they were to get a child, and the king's daughter was to give an apple to the child, and the child was to be put in where the men with the two black dots on their faces were seated ; and to whatsoever one the child should give the apple, that was the one who was to got tho king's daughter.

That was done, and wlten the child went into the chamber in which the men were, the Shifty Lad had a shaving and a drone (sliseag us dnmndan), and the child went and gave him the apple. Then the shaving and the drone were taken from the Shifty Lad, and he was seated in another place, and the apple was given to, the child again ; and he was taken out of the chamber, and sent in again to see to whom lie would give the apple ; and since the Shifty Lad hod the shaving and the drone before, the child went where he woe again, and he gave him the apple. Then tho Shifty Lad got the king's daughter to marry.

And shortly after that the king's daughter and the Shifty Lad were taking a walk to Baile Cliabh ; and

3)8 WEST 111011 LAN [I TALKS.

when they were going over the bridge of Baile Cliabh, the Shifty Lad asked the king's daughter what was the name of that place ; and the king's daughter told him that it was the bridge of Baile Cliabh, in Eiriuu ; and the Shifty Lad said—

" Well then, many is the time that my mother said to me, that my end would be to be hanged at the bridge of Baile Cliabh, in Eirinn ; and sho made me that prophecy many a time when I might play her a trick."

And the king's daughter said, "Well then, if thou thyself shouldst choose to hang over the little side (wall) of the bridge, I will hold thee aloft a little space with my pocket napkin."

And they were at talk and fun about it ; but at last it seemed to the Shifty Lad that he would do it for sport, and the king's daughter took out her pocket napkin, and the Shifty Lad went over the bridge, and he hung by the pocket napkin of the king's daughter, as she lut it over the little side (wall) of the bridge, and they were laughing to each other.

But the king's daughter heard a cry, " The king's castle is going on fire ! " and she started, and she lost her hold of the napkin ; and the Shifty Lad fell down, and his head struck against a stone, and the brain went out of him ; and there was in theory but the sport of children ; and 'the king's_daughtor was obliged to go home a widow.

8GEULACI1D A OHILLE CHARAICII MAO NA BANTRACH.

HUA »air elgelnn tnn roimh su Bantrach, agus bha aona mhac ale. Thug i d k (goil mlmtli, agus bha t boi gu 'n Ugliiulh e ceaird air a •hon fein, ach thubhairt eaan, nach racbadh e a dh' ionnialdh ealdh- ain air bitb, ach gn 'm bitheadh • na mbearlach.

A CHILLE CHARAlcn MA«: NA BANTRACH. 339

Thnbhairt a mhathair ris, " Ma is e sin an ealdbain a tha I lui a dot a thaghadb dhnit fein, is e is deireadh dhult, a bhl air do chrochadli aig drochaid Bhaile-cliitbh an Eirinn." Acb bu chôma со dhuibh, cha rachadh nan gu ealdhain air bith, ach gu a Mmli ann na nthearlach. Ague bhitheadh a mhathair daonnan a deanamh fatainneachd d h, gu 'm a bu deireadh dbasan a bhith air я chrochadh aig drochaid ltlinilr.rlinl.il an Eirinn. Int Im do na lailheanan bha a lihantracli a dot do 'л eaglais, a dh eisdeacbd searmoin, лет bha I sg iarraidh air a' ghille-charrscb а тле e a dhol leatha, 's e a thoirt thairis do a rthrnrh stluireanan, ach cha rachadh e leatha, ach thuirt e ritht. " Is • a chiad raldhain air an cluinn thusa inmrsdh, an deigh dhuit tighinn a mach o 'n t-searmoin, an ealdbaid gu 's an teid mise a rithls."

Dh fhalbh ine do 'n eaglals, 's i Ihn misnich an dbil uii 'n cluinn- Mdh I rud-eiginn mmli. Dh fhalbh mvin 's chaidh e do bhad coille, a bha dlütli do 'n eaglaia, 's chaldb e 'т ГлНасЬ ann an kite far am faiceaHh • a mhathair, a nuair a thigeiulh l a mach as an eaglais. Agnscho Imtli is a thainig l a mach, ghlaodh esan; "MMrle, metric, meirle." Sheall ise ma'n cuairt, ach cha b' urrainn di aithneachadh cia asa bha 'n guth a tighinn, 's dh fhalbh I dacbaidh. ftuithesan rathail ath-ghiorra, 's bha e aig un tigh air thoivsch oirre, 's bha e na shuidli e a »tilth taobh an telne tra a thainig I dachaidh. Dh fharraid e di, eia-dé an «geul a fhnair i ? Thubhairt ise, nach d-fhoalr I sgeul sir lililí, ach gil 'm b'e meirle, mcirle, niMrlc, a' chiad chalnnt a rimai' i Ira thainlg i a mach as an raglals. Thubbairt esan, pu 'm b'e sin an ealdhainn a bhitheadh algeasan, s tliuMmirt lae mar a b' Kbhaist di a ghradh. " Is e Is deirtadh dhnit a bhiih air do chrochadh aig drochaid Bhaile-cliabh an Kirinn." An ath latba mnuaintich a mhslhair, fhun nach deansdh n) air bith tuille gnothach le a mac, ach e a bhith ann na mheirlach, gu 'm feuchadh i ri oide-ionnuich math flianlninii da, Agus chaidb I a dh ionnsaidh gadaiche dnbh Achalbine, meirl- each anbharra seolta, a bha ann 'san alte ain. Agus ged a bha fios ara gu 'n robh e ri gold, cha robh lad a faotuinn dolgh air bith air belrcachd air. Dh' fharraid a' bbantrach do 'n ghsdalche dhubh an gabhadh e an gille-carrach a mac pin a ghadachd ionn«achsilh illi». Thubhairt sn giidairhe dubh, ma bha e 'na ghille tapaidh gu 'n gabhadh, aguí ma bha dnigh air meirltach a dheanamh dbeth, gu 'n dtanadh ««n r, sguii chaidh cumhnant a dhranamh eacUr an gadalch« dnbh, a 's an irille-carrach. Tra bha an gille-carrach mac na bantraich a dranamh deis gu dol chun a' ghaduiche dbnibli, bha a mhathair a toirt chomhalrlran air, agns thuirt i ría. " Is ann sn aghaiilli mo tboll-sa a lha tha a' dol thun na meirlr, agus thai ml ag

3-4 o wníт mcni-АХГ; TALES.

imue dbnit, gar t а defamdb «Uralt a bbith air do cbrochach aig drochaid Bhaile-cliabh ав Eirinn." Ach Cbaidb an gill« carnch dbfhaîdh ihun a' ghadaicbe dnuibn.

Bba aa puUichc dobh a tabbain na b-*fle foghlma a dh fhaodidh с do 'n ghille-charrach air mûrit a dbeanamh. Bhitbeadh e «g \nnse dh» ma 'n t-wottachd a dh' fbeomadh e a dbeanamh, gus an coram fbaotaiaa air rod a phoid. Agus tra bba lei» a' ghadaicbe dhabh, pi •o robh aa gflle-eamch gle" mhath air fhogblum, gu e a btiilh air a tboirt a macb lei», bhitheadb e g* Ilioirt a much lei« gu p.i.l a dheanamh. Ago» lailia do na laitheao sin Ibubhairt an gad- uich« dubh, ri a gbilla.

- 1 ha ».nn gu fbaJa mar an, ii fheudar duinn dol a dbeanamb rudaipnn-, tha tualhanach beartacb dliitb dbuinn, agua tha moran • ircid aip* 'na cbiale, i» e a cbeannaicb na bba do chrodh ri reic ann 'un dutlinich, a¿u« ibug e chun na faidhir iad, 's chreic e iad, tha an l-ainriod aig* 'na chisle, apu» '«* so an t-am gu bhith aige, ma'n teid na da> ine a phaidb air ann an cuiü cruidh, a mar leid »inn a dh iarr- aidh aa airgiod an ocart-nair, tra a tba t cruinn ri cbeile, cha 'n fuaigh »inn an ooram ciadainn a rithia."

Bha an giUe-carrach cbo toileach ri» rein. Dh fhalbh lad chun an Uigfa 'DI fbuair iad a atit;h aig tighinn na b-oidlicbe, aguí chaidh iad an aird air aa fharadh, '§ chaidh iad am fallach go h-'ard ann an ein. Aguí i» è oidhch« ahamhnadh a bha *nn, agua chruinnich mbran do fneadhainn a atigh a gukidheadh na sarobuinn ¿ru cridbeil шаг a b' abhaiM doibh. Shuidh iad combla, agus bha iad a sein n oran, a 'a ri ai £ bear, apu» a' loagadh nan cn<X* agui ri abhachd.

Bha an pille-carrach a gabhail fadail nach robh a chnideachd a •Kaoileadh, dh'eirich • '« cb.idb • »ioa do'n bhatbalch, '• db fbuasgail e

* One of the amusement* which highland people used to entertain themselre* with, ia what they call burning nuts on hallow-eve, the la»t night of October. A parly of y»ung peuple would collect together in one house for to make merry ; one of tlieir amusements was, they would propose a marriage between some bid and Usa, and they would name a nut for each of them. The two nuts would be placed beside each other lu the fire. If the two nuts burned together, and biased over euch other, that WM called a good omen; it waa a algn that the party for whom the nut» waa named were to be married vet, and lire happy together; but if either of the nuts puffed, or flew away, that was a sign that the person for whom that nut was named was proud, and would not accept of the other party.

A OUILLE СНА1ШСН MAC KA BANTRACU. 34!

na nalsg far amhaichean a chruidli, '» thill e 's chaidh « air an rharadh a rithis. Thouich au crodh air purradh a cheile inn '«a bhaihaich, 's air raolceadh, ruidh na bha ann sa chraraadh, achumaila'chruiilh о 'cheile gun an rachadh an ceancal a ritlii*. An tinm a Ilia iadsan a deanamh »In, chaidh an gille-carraeh aioa do 'n chearnadh,'• ghoiil e leis na cno 'n, 'i chaidh e an aird air an fliaradli a rithisd, api» loidh e air chlamh a ghadaiche dhuibh.

Bha Micha mb6r lealhraich aig cblamh a ghadaiche dhuibh, '• bha inathatl aguí mathainn aig a ghillc-charrach agua dh fhuaigh e lomall cbta a ghadaiche dhuibb, ris an t-Mlche leathraich a bha aig a cliblamh, agua tra thainig muinntir an taigbe air an ais do 'n chearnadh a rlthud, bha na cno 'n аса air falbh, agua bha lad ag larraldh nan cno 'n, aguaahaoil lad gu 'in b'e cuid-elginn a thainl»: a •Ugh a dheanamh chleaaorra, a thug air falbh na cno 'n,agu»hul<lli lad aig taobh an (cine gu lambach toidach.

Tliubhalrt an gille-carrach rli a ghadalch« dhubh, " Cnacaidh mi eno."

" Cha chnac, thuirt an gadaichc-dubh, cluinnidh lad tlm '• tin-ill beirrachd oirnn."

"Thubhairt an gille-carrach, cha robhmi-fein riamh roimh oiilh- che ihnmhnadh gu 'n chnó a chnacadh." Agua rhnachd e te.

( 'ínula an fheadhainn a bha 'nan auidhe 'a a chearnadh r, 'a tliubh- âirt lad, " Tha cuid-eiginn gu h-ard air an fharadb, a cnacadh nan cnb 'n again, tbeid iinn agua beiridh "inn orra."

Tra chnala an pidaiche dubh sin, lenm e far an fhtraidh, '• ruith e a mach, 'a an t-s -iche an ilaodadh ría. Theich an gadaiche-dubh '» mninntir an taighe as a ilhcitb, '• bha e aslar mor o'n tigh ma'n <Г fhuair e an t-wiche a renbadh deth agua a fa^ail. Ach an tinm a bha molnntir an talghe a ruith a ghadaiehe-dhuibh, thainig an gille-carr- ach a nnaa fur an fharaidh, chaidh • air feadh an taighe, dh' amaii t air a chiite far an robh an t-br '« an t-airglod aig an tuathanach к» ghleidheadh dh fho«gail e a chirta, » thug « a mach aisle na bnilg ann 'tan robh an t-alrglod a bha Innta,agnt thug • ¡mue, agu* thuge lei* eallach do 'n aran '• do'n 1 m '§ do'n chabe, a'a dona h-ulle n) a b' fhearr nt chella a flm.iir e a atlgh. Agua bha eann air falbh, ma 'n d'Ihainlg mninntir an tnighe airan al« o bhith a rulth a ghadaiche dhuibh.

Nujir a ruiniir an gadalche-dubh dachaidh, 's nach robh n\ air bilh aige, thubhairt a bhean rla, "cia-mar a chaidh fairalrachadh ort air an turn« и ?"

An ain dh innia an )radalche-dubh a ageul fein, «ci» bha fearg mor air rii a ghllle-charrach, '«ça boiileachadh, gn 'n deanailh e diolUi tra ghdbheadh t coram air. Aig ceann nine gboirid na dheigh lin

34я TOBT HIGHLAKTi ТА1Л8.

liiamif an {rfflf-сжггасЬ a Btiph. agm еаВасЪ air. Thabhairt bon a phadakdie dhuibh, ** ***ь 1Ьш ццО »p«» cur tusa iceii¿eacb is fbemr."

Cti» rtnhhairt an paniirhr flnbri dug, gut ри'и de latg u gffle- raracb fbaicmc na bouc a liha aipt Ian do or * do airgiod, an lio tliubbairt an gadaicbe-diibb * Act bu til ax gille tapaidh Г

Kinn iad (là tab air an br. Ч air an airgiod, '» fbuair жп gadaicbe dubb ax dama tab, аса* a« gille carracL an Irth eile. Tra a cbun- naic tioBB a irbadaîciK JhnîKh mw¡ miriD a ibainîjr oirre tbubtiairt L *• It ta fein аш nelrlaach fafbai"^ •*• bha uûUe mn» aie air aa dbcifb aiB na bha ak air a pbadaioh« dbnUi • fein."

Ajg ceann beapaa abaacbdainneaii n« dheiph sin, ЬЬа bañáis gu bhith ana aa «unibeamacbd agn» b' « faaaa na datbeba, tra rachadb feadhama a bhiibaadfa taoi bbir a cbuireadn. pi 'в cninadb iad tabhart- ai a Utaobbaifinn > dh itmaaaidb твшлш ва bamu. Bha tualbanach beartacbanB achaidhacfauiraadh.a(vtdh'iaiTCairabhiiachaiUe aig* с a dhol hi a mbroadh, 'sea tboirt *»«*«wih molt air eon muinctir na bainae. Ciaidh an bnarbmlk ri» a wibnnxlh. 'i fboair e am molt '• tiUa * a dol darbaidb leu, '• t aipe air a dhmim, a ouair a bha « a dol f^^m' air tiph a gbadaiche dboibh. Thubbairt an gille carracb, ri a œbaifbatir " Oia-dc an gvall a cbuircai ta aach goid mi am molt far dmim an fbir am, ma "n raig e an tifh niaihaad?" Tbobbairt an padiicbe dubn, • Cuiridb mi peal] ciad mu-g nach omina duil, cia- aaar a gfaoideadh ta an rod a tha air a dbmim Г

• Cía air bhiih mar a ni mi e feocbaidb mi ris," ona an gille- carracb.

" Ka U та тЛ tbo a, tliuin aa gadaicbe dnbh, bbeir rniae dbnit ciad marg." " It bargain e," ona an gfllc carracb, a'l le tin dh fhalbh e an deigh a bhuachaille. Baa aig a bboachaille ri dol troimh chüille, aguí ghabh an gi 11« carracn (alacha-Ulmnainte air, gut go'n d* fliuair e air thoiaeach air, agua tnalaich e 'na bhrbig, 'i choir a a bhrog air an ralbad air tboueacfa air a bhuachaille, '* chaidb e fain am fall- ach. An oair a tliainig am buachaffle air aghaidh, a'l a chunnaic e a bbrog thubhairt e, " Ach tha tbu aalach 's ged do tha, na 'm bith- eadh do leth-bhreac ann ghlanaion tha," '§ chaidh e eochad.

'lliog an gille carrach a' bhrog, '* ruidh e ma 'n cutirt, 'a bha e air thoiteach air a' bbuacliaille, '• choir e bhrog eile air an rathad air IhoUeach air. Thubhairt e ri« (uein, " ach tha ann an tin letli blireac na bn.in- e aalache."

Chuir e am molt air lar, ago» tbnbhairt • rla-fein, " Tillidh mi an nil '• gheibh mi a bhrog ahalarh, 's glanaidh mi i, '• bithidh da bhroig mhath «gain air son mo thaoireacb," 'i ruith e go loath air ais. Boitb

A GUILLE OBARAIOH UAC NA BANTRACB. 343

«n gille-omch gn loath '• ghold e leia am molt, 'a thog e Ids ui an da bbroig, 's chaldh e dacliai Jh chun a mhaightatir, s fhuair e a chiad marg o a mhaighistir.

Chaidh am buacbaille dachaidh, 'a dh' innis e do a mhaighistir fein mar a thaehair da. Throid a mhaighistir ri» a bhnachaille. An ath latha chulr an tnathanach a rithi* ris a mhonadh e a dh-iarraidb tlrionnach an kite a mhuilt a cbaill t. üb fhalbh am btucbaill« ria a mbonadh, 'a fbnalr e greim air eirionnach, cheangail ae e, chnir e alr a dhrulm e, 'a dh-Fhalbh e gu dol dachaidh leis. Chunnaic an gill«- carrach e, 'a chaidh e do'n chollle, 'a bha • an ain air thoistach air a bhuschaillr, 'a chaidh e am Mach, 'a thbiaich e air mf-ilich coltach ris a' mliolt. Shaoil am buacbaille gn 'm b'e am molt a bba ann, 's cliuir e deth an t-firlonntrh, 's dh fhag и aig Uobh an rathaid a, 'a chaldh a a dh larraidh a mhullt. An tlom a bha am Imnchaille ag iarraldh a' mhollt' chaldh an gill« carrach 'a ghold « lela an t-eir- lonnach, 'a dh fliK^ и alg taobh an rathaid e, 's chaldh e dachaidh Irii cbun a, ghadaiche dhulbh. Tra chaldh am buachaille air ala Гаг an d fhag • an t-«lrlonnach, bha an t-clrionnach air falbh, cha robh an t-eirionnach ann, dh larr e air son an e irionnach ann. Dh iarr e air «on an eirionnach, 'a a nuair nach b'nrrainn d'à in t-eirionnach fhaot- ninn, chaidh e dachaidh 'a dh innta e do a mhaighislir mar a dh eirich d* », agua Ihroid a mbaighiitlr ri.% ach cha robh cornai air. An ath latha dh iarr an tnathanach air a bhuachaille aine, e a dhol ria a mhonadh, agua e a Ihoirt dachaidh damh, • a bhith cinnteach nach callleadh ae a. Chaidh am bnacliaille ria a mhonadh, 's flinalr e damh math reamhar, 'a bha e ga ¡omain dachaidh. Chunnaic an gllle- rarrach e, s' Ihnbhairt e ria a' ghadaiche dhubh, * Tiugalnn, 'a theid sinn a dh fheuchainn ria an damh a ghold o'n bhuachaille, tra a bhltheu e a dol troimh an cboille leis."

Dh' fhalbh an gadaich« dubh aa an gille-carrach do 'n chollle air tholsrach air a bboachaille. Agua tra bha am bnachaille a dol troimh an chollle leis an damh, bha an gadalche dnbh an aon alte, sea meailich, 's an gille-carrach an alte eile, sèa mi|;eartaich coltach ri gabhar. Chuala am buaehaille lad, 'a shaoll • gu 'm falgheadh * am molt, agua an t-elrionnach a rithisd. Cheangail « an damh ri craoibb, 'a chaidh « nir feadh na collle, ag larraidh a' mhuilt agns an elrrionn- aleh. S dh iarr e lad gns RU 'n robh e *o;Uh. An tiomaa bha esan ag larraidh a mhnllt 's an elrionnaich, chaldh an gllle-carach 'a ghoid • lela an damh 's thug e leis dachaidh e chon tlgh a ghaduiche dhnlbh. Chaidh an gadaich« dnbh dachaidh as a dheigh, 'a mharbh Ud an damh, 'a chuir lad am fallach e, '« bha maragan math al» bean a ghad- olch« dhuibh an oldhch« ain. Tra llumig am buachallle air ab lliun

344 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.

na craulbh, fur an d' fhàg о an damh ceangailte, cha robh an damn anil. Dh' aUhnich e gu 'a deich an damh • gboid, chaUh a dacbaidh *> dh ¡nuis • do a mhalghistir mar a thachair, agus throid a mhaigh- Uttr ría, ach cha robh cornus air.

An ath latha dli' iarr a mhalghUtir air a bhuachaille sigo e a dhol rl« a mhouadh, 'аса tlioirt dacbaidh molt, 'e gu 'n e ga leigidh far a tlliruim Idir, gui gu 'n ligendh e dachaidb, cia air bith a chitheadh na a chluluneadh e. Uh' fhnlbh am buachaille, 's chaidh e rii a uihonailh, '» fhiiulr e am molt, 'a chaidh aigu air a mholt »in a thoirt ilachaidh.

Obubli an gailaiche-dubh '« an gille-carrach air an aghaidh ri goid gu» gu 'n robh moran airgid аса, agus sniuaintich iad gu 'm b' fhearr doibh drubh a cheannach, 'a dulcliun faidhir leo gu'n creic, agus gu 'n »uoilcadh femllminn gu'in b'ann air an drbbh aireachd a rinn iad an t-alrgiod. Chaidh an dithit agua cheannakh iad drobh mor cruidb. Agua chaidh iad a dh' ionniaidh faidhir a bha fad air astar leo. Chralo lad an drbbh, 's fhuuir iad an t-airgiod air an son, 'a dh' flmlbh ¡ad gu dul claclmiJIi. Tra a blia iad air an rathad, chnnnaio lad crotch air mullach cnoic agua Ihubhairt an gille-carach ris а' ghatlaicho dhubh, "Tiugainn an alrd il gu'm fuie sin a' chroich, tht foadhainn ag ràdh, gar h-i •' chroich ia deireadh do n* meirlich co- dhlubh."

Chaidh iad an alrd far an robh a* chroich, 'a bha iad a'aaalltuinn ma 'n-cualrt oil ro. Thubhairt an gille-carach, " Nach fhaodamaid fbeuch- alnn cla-de" an aeona bals a tha ann sa' chrochadh, ga m Ы flo« apalnn cla-de a tha ann '«a chrochadh, ga 'm U no« againn cia-ilu a a tha roinhainii ma bheirear oirnn ri gadachd ¡ fcuchaidh mi-fein an tolaeach o."

Chulr an gille-carach an cord ma ambalch fein, 'a Ihubhairt e ría a' ghadalche-dhubh. "So tarruing an Wrdmi, 'a tra bhltheaa ml a^'itb gu h-hrd cratluidh mi mo chas 'n, 'л an fin leig thusa a nuas mi."

Tharruiiig an gaduiche-dubh an cord, 'a thog e an gille-carach an klrd far an talmhainte, agua aig ceann seal bcaj cbrath an gille carach a chaa'n, '> leig an gaduiche-dubh a nuas e.

Chair an gille carach an cord far amhaich, 'a thubhalrt e ris a' ghadaiche-dhubh, " Cha d' flieuch thu-fhein ai riamh,atluchoeibh- inn rls a' chrochadh, na 'm feuchadh tu aon uair e cha bhitbeadh eagal art romh 'n chrochadh taille, bha mise a crathaldh mo chassn lois an olbhlnneas 'a chrathadh tnta do chaaan leis an aoibhneas cuiileaclul na m bllhedh tu ga h-urd."

Thulrt an gaduiche dubh, " Feuchaídh mise e cuideachd, 'a ga 'm bilh flos agam со rls a's collach e."

A OHILLE CHARAICH H АО NA BANTRACH. 345

" Dean," orea gille-carach, " '• tra a bbitheaa tu «g'ith gn h-ard, dun fead 's leigidh mine an nnae thu."

Chuir an gadalche-dnbh an cord ma tmbaich, '• tharruing an gille-carach an eird e, 'a tra fhuair an gille-carach gn 'n robh an gadaiche-dnbh gn h-ard ris a' chrolcb, thnirt e rie. " An nil tra bhithta» to ag iarraldh a nuai dean feid, 'a ma tha thu toilichte far am bhf il thu, eratb do chas 'n."

Tra a boa an gadalcbe dubh aeal bcag gu h-ard, thbuich • air crath- adh a chañan, 'a air braabadb, 'a thetreadh an gille-cirach, * O t nach aighearach tho, nach aighearaeh tha. O, nach aignearach thu, tra bhilhi» leat gu 'm bbeil tbu gle* fbada gn h-ard dean fead."

Ach cha do rinn an gaduiche-dubh fead fhathaat; cheangail an gille-carach an cord ri lochdar crann na croiche, gu» gu *n robh an gaduiche-dnbh marbli. An ain, chaidh an gille-cerach far an robh », 'a thng « an a pbbc an t-airgiod, 'a thubhairt a« ria, ' An ni« fhun nach eil feum agadsa air an alrgiod so na I» faide, gabhiidh mix ebram deth air do »hon." 'S dh flialbh e 'a dh flug e »n gaduichc-dubh, a erochadh ann an ain. An »in chaidh e dachaidh far an robh tiph a ghadniche dhuibh. 8 dh' fharraid bean a gbadniche-dnibh deth, c'aite an robh a mhalghlrtlr? Thoirt an gille-carach, '• Dh fheg mlae e far an robh e air ardachadh oe-eeann an talaimh.'* Dh fbarraid, agua dh' fharrald bran a' ghadnich« detb ma dheldhinn a flr, gu» ma dheireadh gn 'n d' inni» e d' l, ach thnirt e rilhe gn 'm pbaadh e-fhein I. Tra chuala iae ain ghlaodh i gu 'n do mharbh an gille-canch a mhaighiatir it nach robh ann ach mrarlach. Tra chuala an gille- carach ain tbeich e. Chaidh an toir a chair air a dheigh, ach fhoair eaan dol am falsch ann an naimb, 'a chaidb an toir aeachad air. Ilha e '»an naimh fad na h-oidhche, agua an ath latha chaidh a« rathad eile, '» fhnair e teicheadh do dh' Eirinn.

Rainig e tigh aaoir, '• ghlaod b »e aig an dona, " Lei«ibh a »I igh ml"

" Co thaaa ?" orea an aaor.

" Tbk aaor math, ma día a leithid a dnlth ort," oraa an gill« earacb.

Dh fhoegail an aaor an dorna 'a leig e a align an gille-carach, 'n a thbiaich an giile-earach air obalr air aa t-aaonaineacbd combla ri» an t-aaor.

Tra a bha an gllle-carach latha na dha> anna an llgh acá, thng e aealladh a null, '• aealUdh an n»ll »ir fe«dh an taighe '» thubbalrt e, * О chbin la bochd an Ugh agalbh a'a Ugh-taitg an righ cho dluib oirfah"

* Cla-d< dheth alo? " oru an «aor

346 VEST HIGHLAND T.vI.CS

," ana in Rille carach, "pu 'm faodadh libh am pailteaj fluotulnn u tigh itbir an righ na 'm bitbcadh aibh fein gl<* thapaidh."

Theireadh an uor 'i a bhean, " Cliuireadh lad aun priman sinn na 'D tölalcheadh «¡nu air a leithid »inn."

Bha an gllht-carach daonnan ag radh gn 'm bn cbbir doibh dol a bhrlsleadh a etigh do tbigb-taUg an righ, '« go 'm faigbeadh iad am pailteaa ann, ach cha rachadh an мог leb. Ach thug an gille-carach lela palrt do dh' acfhuinn an t-aaoir, a'l cliaidb e fheiii is bhriad • a itigh do tblgh-taiag an righ, 'a thug e leía ealarh do'n im 'i do 'n chkiae >ig an righ, 'a thug e do thigh an t-aaoir e. Tliaitinn na gnothalchen gu math ri bean an t-aaoir, 'a bha i toileach gu 'n rachadh am fear ale' • fheln ann an ath oidhche. Cbaldh an aaor e-fhein le a gbille an ath oidhche, 'a fbuair lad a atigh do thigh-taug an righ, 'a thug iad leo eallaclian mora dö gach M a b* fhearr a tbaitinn riu do na bha atigh ann an tigh taiag an righ. Acb dh' ionndrainn muinntir an righ an t-im 'a an ckiae, 'a na rudan eile a chaidh a tholrt aa an tigh-tbaiag, 'a dh innia lad do 'n righ mar a thacbair.

Qhabh an righ comhairle an t-aeanaghail ma 'n doigh a b' fhearr gu beireachd air na incirleich. Agua la è a cliomhairle a thug an Manghall orra, iad a chuir togsaid Ihn do pbio bhog fo'n toll far an robh lad a* tlgbinn a atigh. Chaidh ein a dheanamh. Agua an ath oidhche chaidh an gllle-carach 'a a mh«lghislir a bhrUdeadh a atigh do thigh-talag an righ. Cliuir an gille-cai räch a mhaighiatir a atigh air tholaeach air. Agua chaidh am maighiitir aioa anna a' pbic bhog gu a tbeia-meadhoin, 'a cha n fliaigheadh e aa a rithUd. Chaidh an gille carach aioa, 'a cbuir e caá air gach gualann aig a mhaighiatir, 'a chuir e a mach da, eallach do 'n Im 'a do 'n chaise aig an righ air an toll, 'a an uair ma dlieireadh tra a bha e a tighinn a mach agiull e an ceann far a mhalgbullr, 'a thug • lela an ceann, '• dh fhag e a chulunn anna an togsaid phic. A'a chaidh e iliichaich lela an im 'a lela a' chaise, aguí thug e dachaldh an ceann, agua dh' adhlaic e anua a ghàrradh e.

Tra a chaidh muinntir an righ a atigh do 'n tlgh-thnUg fliualr iad oolunn gu 'n cheann anna an togsaid phic. Ach cha b' urrainn doilih aithneachadb cb <•. Dh' fheuch iad am faigheadb iad h-aon air bith a dh aithneachadh air aodach e, ach bba aodach comhdalchte le pic, air dolgh la nach b' urralun dolbh atthneacbadh. Dh fharrald on righ comliairle an t-alieanghal ma dheldhlnn. Agua la« a chomhalrle a thug an aeanaghall orra lad a cbuir na column an alrd air bbarr ahteaghan, 'a na aaighdearan gu a giullan о bhaile gn baile, a abeall am falceadb iad h-aon air bith a ghabhadh truadhaa deth, na a dh' fhenchalnn an clulnneadb lad a h-aon air bith a dheanamh glaodh

A GUILLE CHARAICH MAO NA BANTRACQ. 347

gointe Ir» chitheadh iad ¿, na ged nach faiceadh, pu m biiheadh lad ealamh gu glaodh goinle a dheanamh, tra bhilh«adh na salghdearan a dol aeitchad lela. Chaidh a choluiun a thoirt at an Togvild phlc, 'a a mir air bharr nan slcaghan, 'a bha na aaighdearan g'a ghililan an aird air bharr nan «letghan fada crannich аса, 'a iad a dol o bhallegu bail« lela. Ague tra bha iad a dol «each tigh an t-taoir, rinn bean an t-uoir tgreuch ghoinle, aguí ghradghearr an gilli-carach e-fein I'M an ihl, 'a theireadh e ri bean an t-uoir, * ( 'In 'n 'eil ал gearradh cho dona it a tha thu a tmnainteachadh."

Tbalnig an ceannard 'a cuid do na »aighdearan a »tigh agua dh' fhmraid lad. " Cia Af a dh aithrich bean an laighc." Thubbairt an gille-carach, " Tha, gu 'in bheil miae air grarradh mo choiie leit an tal, aguí tba eagal ale« romh flmil." Agna thelridh e ri bean an t- aaoir, * Na bithcadh na h-uibhir eagail ort, leigheiiidh e n* it luaith na tha thu a imaninteachadh."

Shaoil na aaighdearan gu 'm b'e an gille-carach an aaor, agua gu 'mea bhean a bha aig an t-taor bean a gliille-charaich, aguí dh' fhilili lad л mach, 'aehaidh lad о bhaile gu ballr, ach cha il' fluí л ir iad

• h-aon tullí«, ach banntrach an t-taoir I fhein a rinn glaodh na agreuch tra a bha lad a tlghinn »cachad orra.

Thug iad a cholunn dachaidh chan tigh an righ. Ago» ghabh an righ comhairle eile on t-aeanaghall aige, 's b' e in a cholunn a chroch- »'Ih ri cranii ann ал kite foUalteach, aguí aaighdearan a chuir a Ihabh- airt aire air nach tngadh g<n air falbh e, ai na aaighdealrean gu a bhith a thealltinn, an tigeadh feadbainn air blUi an ralbad a ghabh- •db truaigheaa na doilghloa detli.

Thainig an gllle-carach arachad orra, aguíchunnaic ae iad, clialdh

• agua fhuair • «ach, aguí chuir e buideal ui*ge-bhealhii,airgichUnbh do 'o «ach, ann an aachd, 'a cbaidh • ataeh na laighdearan lela, 'i • mar gu 'm bitbeadh e a' fnirvachd am faUich orr«. Shaoil na aaighd- caran gu 'm b' ann a thug se rudaiginn air falbh orra, na gu 'n robb rudaiginn aige nach bu choir d'à a bhith aige, agua rullh cuid diubh air a dbeigh, 'a bheir iad air an t-aeann each a air an nlage-bheatha, ach thelch an gille-carach, 'a dh fhag « an Mann each 'a an t uiagt- beatha аса.

Thug na laighdearan an t-each '« na buldeail ultge-bheaih' »ir ala far an robh a* chnlnnn an crocbadh rii a' chrann. 8heall lad ria- dt; a bha annt na bnideail, 'i tra thuig iad gar ae ufoge-beatba a bha ann fhnair iad ciirn, '• tbiiich iad air Ы, > u» ma dlieiradh, gn 'n robh na h-uilr h-aon diubh air mhisg,'• luidh '« ibaodil lad. Tra chunnaic an gill«-carach gu 'n robh na aaighdeairean, 'nan luidh 'a nan eadal air a mhUg, thill • 'a thug • a nuaa a' cbolnnn far a' chroinn,

mOHLAHD TALES.

chair • croegaefa air drnim in eich e '* thug e dachaidh e, chaidh e u lin agua dh' adhbue e •' cholunn anns a gbandh la an robb «n есапп.

Тга а dhhbg па nighdearin ai » cad*],ЬЬа aehofamn«ir*goid air falbh. (,'ba robh tea air ach dol '§ taue do 'n righ. An ño ghabh in righ comhairle in t-seinigbiL Agua tfcubhairt an seanagbil riutha, na bha anna in lathair, Go "m b'-e l ehomhairla doibh, iad i tboiit l mich mue œbor dhabh а ЬЬа in liod, 's iad a dh' fhalbh leatha o-bhiil« gu baile, agua Ira thigeadh Ud thon an àite far am bitheidh •' cbolunn ailhlaicle, go m buraicheadh i an aird è. Cbaidh lad 'a fliuair iada m hue dhubh, '« bha lad i dol o bhaile gu baile leatha, a db' feuchainn am foigheailh i am mach caite an robh a'cholnnn air • h-adhlae. Chaidh lad o' thigh gu tigh leatha, gna ma Jhe'ireaJh gu'n d' thaioig Ud gua an tigh far an robh ac gille-camch agua b»nn- trach an t-saoir a chomhnuich. A noalr a rainig lad, leig iad a mhuc raapsgaoil air feadh an talmhuinn. Thubhairt an gille-carach riutha, gn 'n robb «-fein cinnteach, gu 'm bitheadh pagbadh 'e acras orra, gu 'm b' fhearr doibh dol a ttigh do 'n tigh, 'a gu'm fai^headh iad biadh '» deoch, 'f iad a leigeil an igitbcai dhiubh, an tinm a bhitheodh a mhuc ag lamidh ma tliimthioll an ai te aige-san. Chaidh iaJian a ftigth, 'i dh iarr an gille carach air bantrach an t-saoir i a chur biadh 's deoch air beulamh nan daoine. Chuir bantrach an t-saoir biadb '» deoch air bbrd, '• chuir I air am beulamh e, 'a an tiom a bha iaJsan ag Itheadh am biadh, cbaidh an gille carach k mach a ahealltuiun an deigh na mnice, 'i bha a mime lir amas lir • cbolulnn anna a ghàrradh, '« chaidh an gille-carach aguí fbuitr e sgian mhbr, agua ghearr e an ceann di. Aguí dh adlilaic e ¡-fein a 's a ceann, lamh-ris a choluinn llg an t-taor aims a gharradh. Tra a Ihainig an fheadhauin air an robh curam na muic' • mach, cha robh a mhuc ri fhaicinn. Dh fharraid iad do 'n ghllle-charach am faca e i. Tbubhairt esan gu 'm faca, gu 'n robh a ceann an aird agua i ag ambare tuas, agus a dol da na tri a cbeumannan an dratda U a rilhisd. Agua dh flialbh iadaan le cabh- •Ig mlii.ir, an taobh a thubhairt an gille-carach a chaidh a' mhuc. Tra fliuair an gille-carach gu 'n deach iadsan as an t-sealladb, chuir e gach n'l air doigh nach amaiseadh iadsan air a inhuic. Chaidh an fheadhainn air an robh curam na muic e aguí dh iarr iad i na h-uile rathad anna am bu coltach I a bhith. An sin tra nach b' nrrainn doibh a faotuinn, cha robh аса air ach dol gu tigh an righ, agus 1ппм mar a tliachatr.

An tin chaidh comhairle an t-ieanaghiU a ghabhall a rithisd. Aguí la e a* ehomhairla a thug an seanaghal orra, lad a chuir nan laighdelrean a mach air feadh na duthcha air cheithearnan, agua cia

A GBILLE CHARAICH HAG NA BANTHACH. 349

alte air bith im faigheadh Ud muic-fheoil, na cia aite air bith am faic- eadh lad muic-fbeoil ; mar b'-urrainn da n fheadhinn »in, a leigeadh fhaicinn cia mar a fhuair iad a mhnic-fheoil a bbitheadh аса, gn 'in b' lad «in an fheadhainn a mharbh a mhac '• а rinn па h-ulie cron а chaidh a dhranamh. Cbaidh combairlean t->eanighai1 a gbabhail 'a na aalghdearan a chuir a mach air cbeithearnan air feadh na dutbcbit '• bha buidheann diubb ann an tigli banntrach an t-aaolr far an robb an gille-caracb. Thug banntrach an t-uoir. an t-auipeair do na taigbdearan, '• bha cold do 'n mhalc-fhenll air a deanamh deaa doibh» agua bha na talgbdearan ag itheadh na muicfheoil, aguí ga aar mboladb. Thoig an gille-caracb cia-de a bha air an aire, ach cha do Mg в air. Chaidh na aalghdearan a chair a luidh а mach anna an t-aabhal, aguí tra bha iad 'nan cadal, chaidh an gille-carach a mach agi» mharbh te lad. An lin chaidh t cho luath as a b' orrainn da o thigh gn tigh far an robh na uighdeircan air cheiihearnan, aguí choir e an r< ill do mhninntir nan talghean, go 'm b' ann a chaidh na aaighdearan, a chuir a mich air feagh na duthcba, ga iad a dh'eiridh air feadh na h-oidhche, agua an aluagh a mharbhadh anni na leapaichean аса, agua fboair e a thoirl air muinntir na duthcha chrtidainn, pun do mharbh muinntir gach tight, na bha do ahaighdeirean 'nan cadal anna na aabhailean acá. Agua an nair nach d' tbainig na aaighdcirean dachaidh aig an tiom bn choir doibh, chaidh feadhainn a (healltoinn ria-d<< a thainig rinlha. Agua tra rainig ladaan la ann a fhnair lad na aaighdelrean marbh anna na saibhlean, far an robh lad 'nan cadal. Agua <lli aicheidh mninntir gach tigh«, gn 'n robh fioi acá cia mar a chai.lh na aalglideirean a chuir ga baa, na со a rinn e.

Chaidh na daoine a bha rit an rannaacha<lh iir ton nan aaighdelrean gu tigh an rlgh, agna dh' Innii lad mar a thachair. An ain choir an rlgh боа air an t-teanaghal, a dh' fhaotuinn combairle nalilh. Tnalnig an Manaphal, agua dhinnia an righ dba mar a thachair, agnt dh' la r r an rlgh comhalrl« air. Agna la • a rhomb - • «irle a thug an aeanachal air an rlgh, • a dbranamh cnlrm agin tob- dannaa (a ball) 'a • chuireadh sluagh na dm In ha, agua nam bitheadh am fear a rinn an cron an ain, gu 'm b'« am e fear ba daña a bhitliidh an iin, agna gun larradh • nlghean an rlgh fein a dhannaa Ma. Chaidh an alnagh iarraidh • rhum na cuirm, 'a an dannaaldh. Agna a measg chaich chaidh an gille caraeh iarraidh. Thainig an aloagh a chum na cuirm, agni a rneaxg chaich thainig an gille caraeh. Tr « a bha a' chuirm (cachad thoiairh an dannaa, agna chabih an gille- caracb la dh' larr e nigbwn an righ gu dannaa leía, agua bha ararrag Ian do rud dnbh aig an t-aeanaghal, agua chuir an »eanaghal ball duoh da'n rod a boa anoa ал t-aearrag air a ghilla-charach, ach boa

SSO

n.i4 a bût cié тгТ"- ввв aa brdaçh, *i

г~и a :i L-r С*АГ% agas ciiaidh an ieaiba, "t tra <вш2 ne aaBt a gUoime sbeall eu»n BB, Ч е&шош с вва ЫД2 ¿vba a ckair aa seacaghal air. iaJ g-M as r»t* am pert cuál «гш-ад1 ciiiUa an gllle

f i a f La« «~a. afmi cfctir евав da bhall dobn air an t . асш ма а ЬЬаП dit* air acBead bar eue g"a thaut, 'r r> nir i sa t I*IIB »k m* lii s Г ' ii fu •» il' faaiii si • Eadarû Ч севвв a gmnii, i«.«™ ^ aa ¿-.Ье-свгасв a ritáis Ч dh iarr с п»»ь««и aa riç* f* >.-»-. Ь-ъа Betrag ai^ aigkcaa aa riga cajdeacbd, 's cbair i ЬаЛ dt:À авг a^ina a ft. «t-^iink-h ach fhuiJr an gille- i aa t-mmnf a &iatpa as a peca c¿ 'a fija» di, agas fuá a boa aire-aaa, caxir t da ЬваЛ air ¿citad feu t::e anuí a rhaid- Ui.Ji di, iti air aa t seaaafbal Aa sin tra a U* aa daaasa stacks 1. cbajdh fradkaiaa a chair a dh fhaidn cb • asa fear air aa rolA aa dâ Lball dbabh. Trs sataD iad>aa air feadh aa t alaaigh ГЪвав- iad fidtead fear, air aa robh da bhall dhobh, agBS bha ccitbir ЬсШ dhabb air aa t BBaaaghal, Ч fhaair an gOle- caraca ealaJh Car aa roth nigbeaa aa ngh, agiu an t-searag a tbialpa aa poca a ritáis, abeall aa Baaaaghal ag^u bha waragan diut>h aige, аЬсаП nigncaa aa rigfa Ч bha а »гагаig {ña aicae, an sin gfaabh aa seaaaghal аЧ aa righ romhairie, ages is e a cfaomhairle sinn a rinn iad, an Righ a thigh inn do 'a choideachd, agos e agh- radb gu *m b' aoabharra tapaidh a dh fncnmadh am fear a rinn na Ь-oile deas a chaidh a dheanamh a bhita, na a tigeadh e air aghaidh s e fein a thvirt was, gu 4a Caighidh • nighean aa righ ri pboaadh ago» dama leth na rioghachd an neo is a bbithidh an an righ beo, agna an t iomalain do n riogbcbd aa deigh bas an righ. Agns thainig na h-uil« gin do n fhtadhainn aig an robh an da bhall dbabh air an aodann, sgus thobhairt iad gu'm b' iadsan a rinn na h-uile Ispadh a chaidh a dbeanamh. An sin chaidh an righ Ч an ard cbombairle, a dh fheochainn cia-mar a ghabhadh a chois aoerachadh, sguj is è a chose a shocmich iad, na Ь-oile fear aig an robh an da bhall dnbh air an aodann, a choir combla ann an acornar, agua bha ¡ad go раЫе f haotuinn, sgus bba nighean an righ gua ubball a thoirt do n phiiade agua bha am patad« gua a choir a sügti far an robh na fir aig an robh na buill dhubh air an aodann, naa soidh, agus ge b-e h-aon air biih do 'n togadh am pàisde an t-ubhall, b-« sin an t-aon a bha ¿из nighean an rifih fhaotoinn.

Cbaidh sin a dbeanamh, agos tra cbaidh am paude a choir a stigh do 'n t seomar асы an robh na fir, bha liseag s dranndan sig a

THB TALK OF ТНК SHIFTY LAD. 35 I

ghille-charrach '• chaldh am paiede 'i thug и an t-uhh»ll d'à. Cbaldh an tin an t-alUeag 'i an dranmlan, a thoirt o 'n giUe-charach agog a chair па shuidh »nn an ait« eile, ago» cbaidh au t-ubhall a thoirt do 'n phaiade a rithis, aguí a thoirt a mach u am t-itomar, 'a a chulr a itlgh a rilh'u a iheall со dh'k a bheiridh e an t-ubhall, aguí fun a bha an t iliarag 'a an dranndan aig a ghllle-charach a roimh, chaiilh am phivlc far an robh e a rithis, a thug и dh a an t-ubbaU. An lin f hnair an gille-carach nighean an righ ri phbiiadh.

Ague goirid na dheigh tin bha nighean an righ, > an gllle-caracb, a ghabhail iraide do Bhaile-cliabh, agua a nnair a bha lad я dol ihair- b air droehaid Bhalle-chiabh, dh' fharraid an gille carach de nighean an righ, cía ainm a bha air an alte ein, Aguí dh inni§, nighean an righ gun robhdrochaidh Baile-cliabh inn an Eirinn, Agua Üiubhairt an gille-carach.

" Ma U i« trie a tbubhairt mo mhathair riumsa gu am bo e bu dfirridh dhomh a bhith air mo chrochadb aig drochiid Bhaile-cliabh an Eirinn, 's rinn i an fhaliineachd »in domh iomadh uair, tr» bhithinn a deanin pbrat oirre."

Agit* thubbairt nighean an righ, Mata mo ihanntaich tu feincro- chadh thiiris air taobhann an droehaid, cumaidh ml*« an àird thu lacan beag le mo napaigean poca."

Agua bha lad ri cainnt 's ri aighear ma deidhinn, ach ma-dheireadh bha leii a ghille-charach gu 'n deanadh м a, air a on abhachd, agua thug nighean an righ a mach a neapaigean poca, agua cliaidh an gille-carach lhair an drochald, aguí cbroch e ri neapaigean poo nighean an righ, 'a I ga leigeadh fbein thai r U air Uobban na droch- aid. '• iad a gairichdeir h ri cheile.

Ach chuala nlgbean an righ enbh, "Tha caUteal an righ a dol ri-theine," aguí chliag i, agua chilli i a greim air an neapaigean agua thuitan gille-carach iloi, aguí bhuail a cheann ri cloich, '• chaidh an eanchainn aa, '• cha robh anni an eubh ach falraag claolna 'a b' eiginn do nigbean an righ dol dachaidh na banntralcb.

From Kale Macfarlanr, In or near the year 1810; A. Campbell, Roaenealh, 18GO ; and J. li'Nalr, Clachalg. 1860.

Some inci'lf nil in thii itory I hare known aa long u I run remember. They uied to b« told me u a child by John Campbell, piper. Some of them were told me in 1869 by John Mao- kenxi« at Inrerary, who laid they were part of a long atory of which he could not repeat the rest. Othen are alluded to in Ни Sutherland cdUctioa «a known in that county. The

35> WEST HIGHLAND TALKS.

version giren came to mo with the pedigree giren above, and ii unaltered, except in orthography and punctuation here and there.

It mar be compared with a rery great many stories in many language», but I know none exactly like it, (See note on No. 40, page 263, vol. ii.)

Some of the incidenti are very like part of the story of Ramp- tintui (Rawlinson's Horodotui, vol. ii. p. 191), which were told to Herodotus more than two thouiand yours ago by priciU ¡в Kgypt, and the moat natural conclusion to arrive at ii, that these IncMenta have been ipread amongst the people by thoae member« of their familiei who atudy the clauioi at the Scotch nniveraitiea, and who might well repeat what they had learned over a winter fire In their father'i cottages, a« their share of a night's entertainment.

Dut the incidenti in this story, which resemble the classical tale, uro aHsocintcil with a groat many other incidents which are not in Herodotus. Some of thcie have a resemblance to incidents in the Norse story of " Tho Master Thief; " and, according to Mr. Dasent's Introduction, these have a resemblance to Sanscrit stories, which are not within my reading. They have a relation to Italian stories in Straparola, and, according to a note in Uawlinson's Herodotns, the story of Kaiiipsintus "has been repeated in the I'ecorone of Scr Giovanni, a Florentine of the fourteenth century, who substitutes a Doge of Venice for the king."

I am told that the barrel of pitch and the marks on the men are introduced into an old German story ; but there are several incidents such as that of the pig which was to discover the dead body as pigs now do truffles, and the apple which as usual is mystical, which so far as I know are in Gaelic only.

On the whole, then, there seems to me nothing for it but to ndmit this to be the Gaelic version of a popular tale, traditionally preserved for ages, altering as times roll on, and suiting itself to the manners of the nnrrators and of the, time.

To suppose it to be derived from books is to suppose that these books have all been read at some time so widely in Scotland as to have become known to the labouring population who speak Gaelic, and so long ago as to have been for-